


Stay With Me, My Darling

by cyberiandemons



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ballroom Dancing, Childhood Trauma, Developing Friendships, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberiandemons/pseuds/cyberiandemons
Summary: Harrow raised an eyebrow. “Have you met Her Divine Highness?”“Oh, yeah,” said the strange woman with her bright orange hair, “Tons of times.”“What’s she like?”“Oh, she’s a huge douche.”—Her Divine Highness Gideon Prim is throwing a ball. Harrowhark doesn’t go to the ball looking for love—but what if love finds her?
Relationships: Camilla Hect & Gideon Nav, Camilla Hect & Palamedes Sextus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Harrowhark Nanagesimus & Palamedes Sextus
Comments: 59
Kudos: 302





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of the ball AU scene in HTN because I am SO WEAK for that scene. 
> 
> Title is from “Curses” by Crane Wives.

In the year 10,001 in the reign of the great King Undying, Gideon Prim—Daughter of the Emperor, Her Divine Highness—was getting married.

Or, rather, she was intending to within the next year. To that end, she was throwing a grand ball on the First House in what Harrow secretly thought was a bit of a strange attempt at finding a future spouse. All of the heirs and nobility of all eight houses were invited, along with anybody they cared to invite (“the more the merrier!”, said the invitation, “Just don’t bring people who suck”); and as one does not simply turn down an invitation from the First House, all of the other houses were in attendance.

Harrow was leaning against the wall, very slowly sipping on a glass of too-sweet wine that made her throat itch as she swallowed it. She looked across the floor to see Aiglamene chatting with the cavalier primary of the Seventh. Aiglamene looked over, met her eyes, and raised an expectant eyebrow. The message was clear:  _ We came here to form alliances, so get out there and socialize, you pathetic excuse for an heir. Don’t just stand there like a mummified corpse, what the hell is wrong with you? _

Aiglamene raised her glass towards her in a cordial gesture—at least as cordial as Aiglamene ever got. Harrow let out an annoyed sigh, internally scolding herself. Obviously Aiglamene’s intended message was nowhere near that harsh. Still, the sentiment was there:  _ Get out and socialize _ . 

Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus was the finest necromancer of her generation. She had led her people since the age of ten, keeping them together like the bones of a skeletal hand held together through pure necromantic will alone. She was a necromancer. She was a leader. 

She was also a profoundly shitty conversationalist. She clung to the wall like a drowning woman to the side of a ship, desperately trying to hold on until somebody could toss her a life preserver and haul her back to safety. 

“Not a fan of parties?” came a voice next to her. 

Harrow jumped, spinning around to face the source of the voice. As she did, a brief, irrational annoyance surged through her chest as she saw that the woman was wearing black—black slacks and a black jacket and a black tie, interrupted only by the white of her slightly rumpled button-up shirt. She had to remind herself that the Ninth House didn’t hold an exclusive copyright on black, and wearing one’s house colors to this event had been a suggestion, not a requirement. As she took in the woman’s dark face under her bright orange hair, she realized that she had something else black on her: a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose, above her cocky smile. The entire effect made her look like one of the biggest douches in the party; which was impressive, considering that the Third House was in attendance. 

“They’re fine, I suppose,” she said after a moment, “If you like false niceties and vapid conversations.” She winced as the words left her mouth. They were here to forge alliances, not tear them down before they had even been built. 

The woman surprised her by laughing. “I get that. They can be fun, though. Especially if there’s trouble.”

Harrow raised an eyebrow. “Trouble? Are you intending to create some?”

“If opportunity strikes.” Her grin widened as she leaned against the wall. 

Harrow was, unfortunately, briefly entranced by the bulge of the woman’s muscles under her tightly-fitted suit. She cleared her throat and looked away. “That seems like a horrible idea.”

Harrow looked back to see one orange eyebrow raised just above the woman’s glasses. “Oh yeah?”

“Obviously. This is a party hosted by the Necrolord Prime himself, you’d get in a world of trouble.”

The woman waved her hand dismissively. “He’s not even on this planet.”

Harrow’s heart sunk ever so slightly as she realized that her tiny, barely-acknowledged dream of meeting the Emperor tonight had never had any hope of coming true. “His daughter, then.”

“Hah! She doesn’t scare me.” The woman grinned again.

Harrow raised an eyebrow. “Have you met her?”

“Oh, yeah, tons of times.”

Harrow tried to push down the curiosity in her chest. Unfortunately, she couldn’t push it down completely. “What’s she like?”

“Oh, she’s a huge douche.” 

Harrow stifled an affronted gasp. “You can’t insult the Emperor’s daughter!” she hissed. “That’s  _ sacrilege! _ ”

The woman laughed. “She doesn’t mind, don’t worry.” Before Harrow could say anything further in defense of Her Divine Highness, the woman said, “Are you vying for her affections tonight?”

Now it was Harrow’s turn to laugh. “No.”

That orange eyebrow went up again. “Oh? Not interested in women? Or just not interested in this one?”

“Not interested in marriage. Not right now, anyway. I have far too much to worry about with taking care of the Ninth House.”

The woman tilted her head to the side. “She could help you take care of it, though.”

“I don’t  _ need  _ help! I have everything perfectly under control!”

“But didn’t you just say it’s worrying you so much that you can’t do anything else?” Harrow’s cheeks began to burn as she realized that she had dug herself into a hole rather spectacularly. Apparently seeing Harrow’s embarrassment, the woman’s expression softened. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. Let me take your mind off of all that, then.”

“Oh? How?”

The woman held a hand out. “Do they dance on the Ninth?”

Harrow stared at the hand as if it was a venomous snake. “Not usually.”

“Do you know how to?”

No. “Yes.”

“Then dance with me.” Harrow hesitated. In truth, she had never danced before, and the idea of humiliating herself in front of this stranger filled her with dread. Apparently taking her silence for rejection, the woman began to withdraw her hand as she said in a rather embarrassed voice, “You don’t have to, of course—”

“No, I’ll do it,” Harrow said in a rush. She was here to socialize and forge alliances; that was the entire purpose of being here. This counted for something, right? She took a deep breath. “I’ll dance with you.”

When the woman’s face broke out into a grin, it was like somebody threw open a window and flooded the room with sunlight. “Great! Come on.” The woman led Harrow onto the dance floor. “Mind if I lead?” Harrow shook her head. “Alright. Just follow me, okay?” 

“Alright...”

The woman put one hand on Harrow’s shoulder blade and held her other hand lifted halfway into the air. Harrow discretely glanced around the room, seeing where the other followers were putting their hands. She lifted her hand and put it on the woman’s shoulder. The woman smiled at her. With that, the woman began to lead her in a dance that Harrow barely knew the steps to. Harrow stumbled over her feet, stumbled over the woman’s feet, stumbled over  _ air _ . She stared at the ground, face burning under her paint, terrified to look up and see the mockery and scorn that was surely in the stranger’s face.

The woman stopped moving. Harrow froze. “Hey,” the woman said, voice gentle. Harrow slowly pulled her eyes up from the ground to look at the woman. Instead of derision, her expression was soft—maybe a bit amused, just a bit, but mostly containing some soft emotion that Harrow couldn’t even name. Nobody had ever looked at her like that before. “You don’t know how to dance, do you?”

Harrow let out a slow breath. “No.”

“That’s alright. I’ll show you.” The woman smiled. “It’s not that hard, don’t worry. We’re just walking in a square. I’m going to step forward with my left foot, and you step back with your right. Then move your left foot out to the side, and then bring your right foot over to meet it. Then we do the same thing going forward. Make sense?” Harrow nodded. “Alright. Let’s try it.”

They danced through the steps together. Harrow stumbled a few more times, but each time she did, the woman’s firm hands and gentle smile steadied her. As they continued to dance, Harrow’s embarrassment faded, but her face remained warm as her heart began to beat rather rapidly. She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on with that. Perhaps she was falling ill. If she was, though, that could wait until after this dance. There seemed to be nothing more important in all the galaxy—in all the universe—than finishing this dance with this strange woman, this total stranger who looked at Harrow with expressions that nobody had ever worn while looking at her before.

When the song came to an end, Harrow realized with a start that she was disappointed. As she was trying to figure out why that was, the woman smiled. “How about one more song?”

That strange feeling in Harrow’s chest increased. Hopefully whatever was plaguing her wasn’t fatal. “Yes, I—yes. Thank you.”

They danced three more songs after that. As their final dance began to draw to a close, the woman spoke again in a tone Harrow couldn’t quite identify. “So… you’re definitely not going to consider marrying Gideon?”

It struck Harrow as very odd and a bit uncouth to refer to the Emperor’s daughter by first name alone—but then again, they apparently knew each other, so maybe she didn’t mind. “No, I don’t think that’s on the table for me. I have too much to focus on.”

“Right.” Harrow furrowed her brow. Did the woman sound disappointed? Before Harrow could investigate that further, the song came to an end. The woman hesitated for a long moment before letting go of Harrow and stepping back. “I should probably get going.”

Disappointment made a comfortable home in Harrow’s chest. “Right. Of course.”

The woman bowed. “Thank you for those dances, Reverend Daughter.”

Harrow curtsied in return. “Of course. Thank you.” 

With one last dazzling smile, the woman walked away.

As she did, leaving Harrow alone on the dance floor, Harrow realized that she hadn’t even asked the woman’s name. Dammit. Cursing herself, she returned to her previous spot on the wall. That strange feeling in her chest was still there, but beginning to fade. As it did, Harrow realized with a shock that she was beginning to miss it. What was that feeling? Why had the woman made her feel it? And why did Harrow want more?

Aiglamene found her after a few minutes, wallowing in self-pity. “Have you spoken to anybody, my lady?”

“Yes, actually. A woman.”

Aiglamene’s face lit up in what Harrowhark was mildly offended to realize was surprise. “Oh? Who?”

Harrow paused, pressing her lips together. “I didn’t get her name,” she said after a moment.

Aiglamene raised an eyebrow. “Which house?”

Harrow opened her mouth, then closed it. She bit back a groan. “I… didn’t catch that, either. She was dressed in black, but I know she wasn’t Ninth.”

Aiglamene let out a long, slow breath. “Alright. Did she have any other colors on her?”

“Red hair, but it looked natural, so I don’t think it was supposed to indicate Second. A white shirt, but I’m positive she wasn’t Eighth.”

“How so?”

Harrow’s first thought was  _ she wasn’t a stuffy old prick _ , but she pushed that back to say, “She just didn’t seem the type.”

“There’s all types in all of the houses, my lady. Stereotypes only hold true sometimes.”

“Perhaps. Still, I don’t think she was…” Harrow trailed off as her ear was caught by a loud murmur of conversation that was markedly different in tone than the noise the crowd had generated all night. People sounded excited, nervous, perhaps worried. She turned her head, tracing the noise to a small crowd gathered around a long table. Two people stood on top of the table. On one end was a cavalier who had to be Third, sword drawn, sneering at— “Oh my god.”

Aiglamene followed her gaze to the table. She let out a disbelieving laugh. “What kind of idiot is going to get into a duel at the Emperor’s party?”

“The idiot I was dancing with. Come on.” Harrow broke into a rapid walk, darting over to the table and pushing rather rudely to the front of the crowd. The woman she had danced with stood on the table, jacket and tie off and shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows. 

As Harrow approached, she looked down and grinned. “Reverend Daughter! Hello.”

Harrow let out a slow, even breath. “What the  _ hell  _ are you doing?”

“The Fourth cavalier primary has insulted the Third House!” said the Third cavalier, standing there in a tacky gold suit and  _ far _ too much hair gel. “I challenged her to a duel.”

“And I said that only a cowardly  _ dick  _ would challenge a fourteen-year-old to a duel just because she insulted some princess’ dress,” the woman said, glaring at the Third. “So I said I would fight in Sir Chattur’s place.”

“I could have taken him!” called a voice from the other edge of the crowd. Harrow looked over to see a fierce-looking teenage girl in a crisp blue suit, being held back by an orange-haired teenage boy in a matching suit who looked incredibly embarrassed. 

“Jeannemary!” hissed the boy. “You can’t get into a fight at the ball!”

“Shut  _ up _ , Isaac!”

Harrow let out a long breath, trying to keep her breathing steady as she looked up at the woman. “You don’t even have a sword.”

The woman grimaced. “Yes, well, I can still make this work—” 

Harrow turned to scan the crowd. Seeing her cavalier at the edge, she barked, “Ortus!”

Ortus stepped carefully through the crowd to join Harrow. “Yes, Reverend Daughter?”

“Loan that woman your rapier.” And then, muttered to herself, “It’s not like you’re using it, anyway.”

“Yes, my lady.” Ortus took the rapier off of his belt and passed it off to the woman on the table.

The woman nodded to Ortus. “Thanks, Ninth.”

“Of course.” Ortus bowed his head. “Fighting in defense of the defenseless is quite honorable indeed.”

“ _ Defenseless!”  _ Jeannemary hissed, sounding more offended than anybody had ever sounded in the history of the galaxy. “I’ll show  _ him  _ defenseless—”

“Jeannemary,” said a very tired-sounding cavalier as he walked up behind the terrible teenagers. He was a man of dark skin and black, tightly coiled hair; probably Fifth, judging by his brown suit and gold tie. He looked up at the woman on the table, appeared to go rapidly through all five stages of grief, and then turned back to the horrible teenagers. “Abigail and I leave you two alone for  _ five minutes _ —”

“Magnuuuuuus,” she whined, “Don’t embarrass me!”

Ortus continued as if Jeannemary hadn’t spoken. “Quite honorable,” he repeated. He opened his mouth, and Harrow realized with a start what was about to come out of it.

“ _ Ortus! _ ” she hissed. He closed his mouth, turning to look at her. “No poetry!”

Ortus deflated. “Yes, my lady.”

The Third cavalier looked out to the crowd. “Who wants to arbitrate?”

Aiglamene stepped forward. “I will.” And then, loudly enough for the gathered crowd to hear: “To the floor.”

The Third cavalier looked mildly alarmed. “Not to the first touch?”

Aiglamene actually scoffed at that. “Who fights  _ to the first touch _ ?”

He turned to her, eyes narrowed. “Listen here,  _ Ninth _ —”

“Oh, come now, Babs,” said a Third woman standing off to the side of the table. She was almost stereotypically Third—tall, golden, and stunningly beautiful. She smiled at the cavalier, her grin a bit hungry, a bit overly excited. “You can take it, can’t you?”

_ Babs  _ puffed out his chest. “Of course I can.” He turned back to Aiglamene. “I accept the terms.”

“If you’d let me finish  _ stating  _ the terms,” Aiglamene said dryly, “That would be lovely.” A woman to the right of the bright Third woman laughed a little, the sound harsh and judgemental. Harrow glanced over at her. She was definitely related to the other Third woman—twins, if Harrow had to guess—but she looked like a shadow of her sister. Like the radiant Third woman had sucked all of the life out of her twin. Her hair was a pale, sickly yellow where her sister’s was a bright blonde; her skin was so pale as to look nearly ill while her sister’s was sun-kissed and vibrant. Harrow had seen corpses that looked more alive. “To the floor,” Aiglamene continued. “Clavicle to sacrum, arms exception. Call.”

“Naberius the Third,” the cavalier said, puffing out his chest like some kind of strange bird.

The woman hesitated before speaking. “Pyrrha,” she said, voice a little unsure. Harrow realized with a start that the woman was, without a doubt, lying. She didn’t even state her own house, continuing on to say “Representing Jeannemary the Fourth.” 

Naberius cocked an eyebrow. “What house are you?”

_ Pyrrha  _ began to look very distinctly nervous. Harrow took in a deep breath and, before her brain could catch up to her mouth, called out “Does it matter?” As all eyes in the crowd turned to look at her, her hands began to sweat under her gloves. “She’s representing the Fourth. Her own house is irrelevant.”

The shadow-twin looked up at Naberius with an amused smirk. “Are you stalling, Babs?”

Naberius scoffed. “Obviously not! How dare you suggest that, Ianthe?”

“Watch your tone,” said the bright twin, voice suddenly hard. 

Naberius deflated. “Yes, Corona.”

Corona’s smile lit up again. “Alright. Enough stalling. It’s time to duel.”

“Hang on now!” came a new voice. Everybody turned to see a man pushing through the crowd; one of the Second House soldiers who had been enlisted to act as security during the ball. The air in the room changed as everybody realized—some with relief, some with disappointment—that the duel was over before it even began. The man went straight to Pyrrha, staring up at her with his arms crossed. “What are you doing up there?”

“Dueling for the honor of the Fourth House.” Pyrrha raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to stop me, are you?”

Harrow expected the man to laugh in her face and end the duel immediately, but they stared each other down for a moment. Finally, the man sighed. “Your father is going to kill you,” he stated, a heavy note of annoyance in his voice.

“I’ll put in my will that you’re invited to the funeral. It’ll be a blast, don’t worry.” 

The Second soldier sighed and stepped back into the crowd. Everybody stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what had just happened—besides the Fifth man, who was staring at Pyrrha looking somewhat fondly amused. Slowly, the pieces began to come together in Harrow’s mind. Her eyes widened as she turned and stared up at the woman calling herself Pyrrha.

Pyrrha turned to Aiglamene. “If you would?”

Aiglamene nodded. “Seven paces back.” They both walked back to the ends of the long table. “Turn. Begin!”

Pyrrha came at Naberius like a lightning strike. Jeannemary gasped, eyes lighting up as she looked up at her. “Her muscles are so  _ big _ ,” she whispered. “Isaac, are my muscles that big?”

“I don’t know!” Isaac said, not looking away from the duel. “I’ll check later.”

Naberius dueled like somebody whose fighting experience all came from sanctioned, monitored duels—someone who expected all fights to abide by a strict set of rules. Pyrrha dueled like somebody who had been trained for real, dangerous fights. She was efficient and brutal; Naberius was just efficient. 

As Harrow was staring at her absolutely transfixed, Aiglamene muttered, “A rapier isn’t her primary weapon.”

Harrow didn’t pull her eyes off of the duel as she muttered back, “Oh?”

“She keeps trying to fight with it like it’s a longsword. See, she just tried to use it to block. She’s used to wielding a two-hander. A particularly heavy one, I’d guess.”

“But she’s winning. Are you impressed?”

“She’s passable,” Aiglamene said, which from her meant roughly the same thing as anybody else saying  _ this is one of the greatest swordswomen have ever seen in my life _ . As Harrow watched Pyrrha move, that same strange feeling returned to her chest.

Naberius sliced at Pyrrha’s chest, cutting her shirt open. Jeannemary and Isaac gasped and clung to each other. Pyrrha grunted and threw her shirt off entirely, revealing a white bandeau underneath. Several ladies in the crowd actually  _ swooned _ . Harrow found her face heating under her paint. Pyrrha tried to recover, but Naberius just kept coming at her. She regained her footing, managing to dodge his next several moves. Naberius let out a frustrated little grunt as he tried to hit her. With a small cry, he reared back before sending his rapier in an arc towards her face. Harrow inhaled sharply.

Pyrrha yelped, jerking back. Her sunglasses flew off, falling to the ground. The entire group—Naberius included—froze.

“It’s  _ clavicle to sacrum _ , asshole!” the woman calling herself Pyrrha said. She darted at him. He stood, still frozen. He didn’t even move when she kicked him to the ground.

Her Divine Highness was a mysterious figure who had been seen by very few. But there were three things that everybody in the room knew about her: she had red hair, she had dark skin, and she had bright golden eyes. Gideon Prim stood above Naberius, her rapier pointed at his throat and her golden eyes glowing in the candlelight of the chandelier above her.

After a moment of silence, Aiglamene called out with remarkable steadiness in her voice, “Match to the First.”

Gideon frowned, turning to look at Aiglamene. “First? Don’t you mean—” Her eyes widened as her hand went up and touched her face where her sunglasses had rested. “Oh. Well. Shit.” She let out an awkward laugh. “Uh, cat’s out of the bag now, huh?” She extended her hand to Naberius. He stared at it for a moment before taking it with a shaking hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. As he stared at her with wide eyes, she let out an awkward laugh. “Uh, good match.”

“Naberius!” Corona hissed. “ _ Apologize! _ ”

Naberius immediately dropped to his knees in a deep bow. Gideon groaned. “Please forgive my transgression, Your Divine Highness. The Third House, as always, remains your loyal servant—”

“Cut the crap, Naberius,” Gideon said sharply. He froze. Corona and Ianthe glared at him. “If you didn’t know that I’m the Emperor’s daughter, you would’ve gladly wiped the floor with me.” She turned, addressing the room. “Yes! I am Gideon Prim. My father, the Emperor, told me to put on this ball to find someone to marry.” She muttered something that sounded a lot like “Because the old man can’t stop interfering in my love life”. Harrow’s eyes widened. Then, loud again: “I came to this ball without revealing myself because I wanted to see how people treated me when they didn’t know who I was.

“Some of you have been kind to me,” she said, and Harrow watched her eyes go to a gently smiling Seventh woman in a wheelchair; a necromancer and his cavalier both dressed in the grey of the Sixth, who were both staring at Gideon impassively; the horrible teenagers, who were staring at Gideon with wide eyes; and the Fifth man, along with the woman now standing next to him—pale skin, about Magnus’ age, dress the same brown as his suit. Finally, Gideon’s eyes turned to Harrow. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. Harrow’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest. 

Gideon turned to address the room again, smile quickly fading. “However, some of you were, to be frank,  _ dicks  _ to me.” Her gaze travelled around the room again, stopping at several people, including Ianthe, Naberius, and a white-dressed necromancer of the Eighth. Most of the people Gideon’s gaze landed on shifted uncomfortably, minus the Eighth (who looked offended) and Ianthe (who looked amused). “You’ve all given me a lot to think about. I’m going to retire for the night now. Those of you who were  _ not  _ dicks…” And here her gaze settled firmly on Harrow as another smile lit up her face. “I look forward to speaking with you more over the next few weeks that you’re on this planet. Goodnight.”

Gideon jumped off the table. She walked over to Ortus, handing him back his rapier. “Thank you, Ninth.”

Ortus bowed his head again, and Harrow took a moment to thank her lucky stars that he didn’t drop to the floor in a bow or start reciting poetry. “It was an honor, Gideon the First.”

Gideon turned to see Jeannemary standing next to her, staring up at her with wide eyes. Gideon grinned down at her. “Hello, Jeannemary.”

“I’m going to learn to fight like you,” Jeannemary said firmly. 

Gideon’s grin widened. “I bet you will. When you do, you’ll have to come back and show me.”

Jeannemary’s eyes somehow widened even further. Isaac ran up to her, tugging on her arm. “Jeannemary!” he hissed, “Come  _ on,  _ she said she’s going to bed.”

“It’s alright,” Gideon laughed. “You two have both been lovely to talk to.” At this, Isaac flushed the bright red of a Cavelier’s uniform. “Say, Jeannemary.”

Jeannemary stood up straight. “Yes?”

“Are you going to be here for the next few weeks?”

Jeannemary nodded. “Isaac and I want to meet all of the other houses.”

Gideon grinned. “Great! How about you and I train together a few times a week until you leave?”

Jeannemary inhaled sharply. “Yes,” she said, voice remarkably even. “Yes, please.”

“We can start tomorrow, then. Noon?”

Jeannemary nodded her head in a jerky motion. “Noon.”

“Great. See you then, Sir Chattur.”

“And you, Gideon the First.”

The Fifth cavalier came up, putting his hands on the horrible teens’ shoulders. “Alright, you two,” he said, voice gentle. “I think we should get up to bed. It’s getting late.”

“ _ Magnuuuus _ !” Jeannemary hissed.  _ “I was trying to act cool! _ ”

“ _ Don’t embarrass us in front of Gideon, Magnuuuuus!” _ Isaac said, face somehow turning even deeper red. 

Gideon laughed, nodding at Magnus. “Good to see you, Magnus. Will you and Abigail meet me for breakfast tomorrow?”

Magnus smiled. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. See you then, Gideon.”

“See you.”

Magnus led the horrible teens away. As he did, Harrow heard Jeannemary hiss “Magnuuuuus! You didn’t tell us that you know Gideon, Magnus!” Magnus laughed as they left the room.

The Sixth necromancer and cavalier came up, striking up conversation with Gideon. As Harrow stared at her, Aiglamene turned and said in her ear, “ _ That’s  _ the woman you spoke with? Her Divine Highness?”

Harrow looked over at Aiglamene. She took in a long, deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Yeah.”

“Did you know who she was?”

“No idea.” Harrow looked back towards Gideon, and her heart sunk as she saw that she was walking away from her. She could have walked after her, of course, but there were now literally dozens of people trying to talk to her, and Gideon’s annoyance seemed to increase further with every person who came up, bowing to her and trying to praise her. If she went up and spoke to Gideon now, Gideon would think that she was just like them; that she was only interested in Gideon because of her title. So Harrow hung back, watching as Gideon disappeared through the doors marked  _ No Guests Allowed _ . As the door closed, Harrow felt some sudden wave of—of what? Something bad. Something that made her want to curl up on the floor and ignore everybody around her.

Aiglamene sighed. “Well—”

“I’m going to bed,” Harrow said sharply. She turned away, drawing her robes more tightly around her as she walked away. “Goodnight, Aiglamene.”

A beat passed. “Goodnight, Reverend Daughter,” Aiglamene said, and Harrow prayed that she was imagining the annoyance in her voice. She tried to shove that thought off. What did it matter to her if Aiglamene was annoyed at her? What did it matter to her if Aiglamene thought that she was a selfish, whiney, childish little—

Harrow paused in the hallway, leaning her head against the smooth wood of the wall. She took in several long, deep breaths. That didn’t matter. None of that mattered. She had come here to make alliances. The first night was mostly wasted—she wasn’t so vain as to think that four dances with Gideon would instantly put her in the Emperor’s good graces—but most of the guests would be on the First House for the next week. She still had time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I’m planning on updating either once or twice a week, we’ll see how it goes. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at cyberian-demons!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having trouble sleeping the night of the dance, Harrow has a run-in with the peculiar heir and cavalier primary of the Sixth House. Afterwards, she finds somebody to have an even more interesting conversation with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaaay so I am impatient and this is a Weird Week, so! I'm going to try to upload chapters daily until the fic is finished :)
> 
> I forgot to mention this in the last chapter because I uploaded it in a rush, so I want to make mention here: big shout-out to the lovely people in the People's Tomb Discord server, who have been very encouraging and have helped me work out some plot issues!

When Harrow got back to her room, she walked to the bathroom and began the process of taking off all of her jewelry and scrubbing off all of her facepaint. Right as she got the last of the paint, there was a knock on her bedroom door. She let out an annoyed huff, then paused. What if it was Gideon? The chance seemed slim, but not entirely impossible. Her heart raced as she walked over to the door. 

“Hello?” she said as she pulled it open.

“Good evening, Reverend Daughter,” Ortus said. 

Harrow’s heart sank for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. “Yes, Ortus?”

Ortus shifted uncomfortably. “Well—I was just having a conversation with another cavalier, and he mentioned that it’s traditional for necromancers and cavaliers to sleep in the same room—”

“ _ Absolutely not. _ ”

Relief flooded Ortus’ face. “Of course. Have a good night, Reverend Daughter.”

“Mm.” Harrow shut the door on him. She turned and pressed her back to the door, leaning her head back and taking in a few deep breaths. 

After a few moments of standing there and stewing in emotions she couldn’t even identify, she forced herself to go back to the bathroom, shed her clothes, and get in the bath. She leaned back in the hot water, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. Tonight had been a wash, but tomorrow was another day.

After her bath, Harrow put her nightgown on and got straight in bed. She closed the curtains as tightly as possible, but a few slivers of moonlight still got in. The room was dark, but after living in Ninth for her entire life, the scant amount of moonlight getting into the room was, frustratingly, enough to keep Harrow from falling asleep. Maybe she wasn’t tired enough yet.

Harrow sat up, squinting to look at the clock on the bedside table. The glowing numbers informed her that it was pushing one in the morning. The ball had finished well over an hour ago, so the house must be quiet now—the heirs and their families situated in their rooms within this grand home, the remaining guests shuttled off to the other lodgings. She could likely leave her room without having to speak to another living soul, which sounded absolutely perfect.

Harrow threw on a knee-length black cardigan over her nightgown and slipped into her shoes. She paused at the desk where she had left all of her jewelry, slipping on her bone bangles. The studs in her ears were still there, but it never hurt to be extra prepared. (Or extra paranoid.)

Standing outside her room, it occurred to Harrow that she didn’t know where to go. She hadn’t taken time to explore the house much, and she wasn’t entirely sure where anything was. But she wouldn’t get anywhere just standing around, so she picked a direction and started walking. 

After several minutes, her wanderings led her to the kitchen. That worked, at least for now. She flipped on an overhead light. Bright white light immediately flooded the kitchen. Harrow winced, looking around for something smaller. Spotting a switch on the hood above one of the stoves, she turned the overhead off before walking over and flipping that on. A small amount of warm yellow light illuminated the room. 

Harrow set about searching the cupboards for a glass. A minute later, as she was at the sink and filling her glass up with water, the door began to open behind her. She dropped the glass in the sink and wheeled around, instinctively throwing her bangle onto the ground and growing a skeleton from it. 

The door opened to reveal the Sixth cavalier and necromancer, standing there in grey pajamas. The cavalier immediately drew a rapier from her belt and moved in front of her necromancer. 

“Whoa!” the necromancer said, putting his hands in the air next to his head. “We’re just here for water. Cam, drop your sword.” She kept her sword drawn. The necromancer sighed and lowered one hand to push his glasses further up his nose. “ _ Camilla.”  _ At this, Camilla slowly sheathed her rapier, though she stayed between the skeleton and her necromancer. 

Trying to calm her racing heart, Harrow dropped the skeleton back into a bangle. She bent down to pick it up, keeping her eyes locked on Camilla and her necromancer the entire time. When she stood and slipped the bangle back onto her wrist, the necromancer nodded and walked over. He extended his hand. “Master Warden Palamedes Sextus.”

Harrow shook it, suddenly wishing very, very hard that she wasn’t in a nightgown with a bare face. By the look on his face, he was wishing he wasn’t in pajama pants and a t-shirt. “Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus.”

Palamedes jerked his head back to indicate his cavalier. “Camilla Hect.” Camilla made a noncommittal noise. 

Harrow drew herself up to her full height. She was, unfortunately, still nearly a foot shorter than him and almost that much shorter than Camilla. Still, she tried to look as imposing as she could. After a brief moment of racking her brain, she found the speciality of the Sixth House. “You specialize in psychometry.”

“Right.” He nodded. “You specialize in bones.”

“Yes, correct.”

They stood in silence for a moment, and Harrow was slowly filled with the horrible realization that neither of them—one raised by nuns and the other in a library—had any idea how to carry on a regular conversation. This was horrifying news for Harrow, whose entire plan for socializing with the other houses started and ended with  _ follow the other person’s lead.  _

After a moment, Palamedes turned and began looking through the cupboards. “I’ve heard the Ninth doesn’t usually leave their planet.”

“Glasses are in that cupboard. No, not usually.”

“Thanks.” He walked over, got two glasses, and made his way to the sink. “What brings you out here now?”

Harrow considered, choosing her words carefully. “I thought,” she said after a moment, “That it would be beneficial to the Ninth House for us to form greater alliances with the other houses.”

Palamedes raised a now-filled glass. “Cheers.” He held the glass out towards Camilla. “Cam?” Camilla walked over, expression completely neutral, and took the glass. 

A moment passed in silence before Harrow said, “I had heard that the Sixth rarely leaves the Library.”

“Well, there’s not much worth leaving for.”

“Then why here? Are you vying for G—” she cut herself off, face growing hot. “For Her Divine Highness’ affections?”

Palamedes barked out a laugh. “God, no. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m not exactly her type.”

Harrow raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“She’s a lesbian,” Camilla said plainly. “She’s only considering women.” She began taking a sip from her glass. 

“Ah. Are you hoping she’ll consider you, then?”

Camilla choked on her water. Palamedes walked over and thumped her on the back a few times. “No,” she choked out, the barest hint of a blush on her cheeks. “No, I’m not.”

Palamedes turned to Harrow. “This house is supposed to have a massive library, and I couldn’t pass on the chance to come read everything they’ll let me.”

Well, Harrow could respect that. “I see.”

Palamedes looked at Harrow with something that almost approached a smile. “Maybe tomorrow we could sit together and compare knowledge. I can teach you about psychometry, you can talk to me about bone magic.”

“I know plenty about psychometry,” Harrow lied.

Palamedes raised an eyebrow in a delicate arc that showed exactly how much he believed that. Harrow was nearly overcome with the urge to take one of her bangles off and throw it at his face. “Then I can fill in your gaps, and you can fill in the gaps of my bone knowledge.”

Harrow stared into his cold grey eyes. The Sixth were not renowned for working with others and sharing their knowledge. If he was willing to share his knowledge with her, then he must really, really want her to teach him what she knew. A bit of pride swelled in her chest. She was the best bone magician of her generation, and it was always pleasant to see that recognized. “For reference,” he said as he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, “I’m the greatest psychometrist of my generation.”

Harrow laughed. “That’s a bold claim!”

“It is. And it’s true.” 

Harrow wasn’t sure if she believed that. She considered for a moment, then let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll share some knowledge with you. But there’s a large amount of knowledge that’s exclusive to our house.”

“Of course. Same with ours.”

They nodded at each other. Palamedes glanced into the sink, then picked up the glass she had dropped into it. “Would you like me to…?”

“I’ve got it.” She walked over, took the glass from him, and began filling it up.

Palamedes nodded. “Well, Cam and I should be getting to bed. Shall we meet in the library at eleven tomorrow?” 

“Eleven works. See you then.”

“See you.”

All three of them looked down at their glasses and realized that they weren’t done drinking yet. They spent the next minute in total silence, staring at the floor and drinking water. Finally, Harrow finished her glass and set it in the sink. With a final nod to Palamedes and Camilla, she left the room.

Harrow was definitely more tired than she had been earlier, but she still didn’t feel quite tired enough to sleep. She wandered the halls idly for a few minutes before finding herself back on the second floor, facing a set of glass double doors that looked out onto a patio. As she pushed the door open, a burst of warm night air hit her face, an immediate difference from the air conditioned halls of the house. She breathed it in deeply as she softly shut the door behind her and walked over to the stone railing. Resting her arms on the railing and leaning forward, she took in a few more deep breaths of First air. It was different from the air on the Ninth. Not recycled oxygen that had been pumped through Drearburh for centuries, just… regular, plant-generated oxygen.

It was stange. But nice, in its own way. Harrow closed her eyes, breathing it in. This planet actually had seasons, and she had been informed that it was currently summer. Harrow had feared that she would be too cold outside with just a cardigan on, but she found herself slipping her cardigan down her shoulders to rest at her bent elbows. She didn’t notice that the doors behind her had opened until a voice came from a few feet behind her. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Harrow wheeled around to see Gideon standing there in sweatpants and a white tank top that, God help Harrow, showed off her muscles  _ extravagantly.  _ Her golden eyes nearly seemed to glow in the moonlight, and she was smiling at Harrow like—like Harrow didn’t even know what. Gideon kept giving Harrow looks that she had never been on the receiving end of before, and she had no idea how to deal with them. Harrow stood frozen in place, unsure whether to bow or not. Every religious bone in her body was screaming at her that she should—this was  _ God’s daughter _ —but she kept remembering how frustrated Gideon had looked when Naberius had bowed to her earlier.

As if reading her mind, Gideon said, “Please don’t bow to me or anything. Please.” She walked over, leaning on the rail next to Harrow. “I’m pretty sick of people bowing to me and treating me like I’m above them.”

“But,” Harrow said before her brain could stop her, “You’re the daughter of God.”

Gideon actually rolled her eyes. Embarrassment rushed through every bone in Harrow’s body. “Yeah, I guess. It’s hard for me to see him as divine, though. He’s just… my dad. He’s weird. He’s embarrassing sometimes. A lot of the time. He makes stupid jokes.” Harrow bit back the part of her that just wanted to say  _ but he’s God _ . She wasn’t sure what to say instead of that. After a moment of silence, Gideon sighed. “Please… I really, really don’t want this to change anything between us. We were having so much fun before you found out who I was. You were just treating me like a person. Can’t we keep doing that?”

Those piercing golden eyes were staring at her like she could see straight through her. Harrow wanted to look away, but she forced herself to hold Gideon’s gaze. “Yes,” she said after a moment, though her brain was screaming  _ what are you doing, you heretic?!  _ “Yes, we can do that.” Anxiety suddenly flooded her chest. Oh, God, this was a test, wasn’t it? Trying to test her devotion to God. Her Divine Highness was about to brand her a heretic, declare her unworthy of being in her presence, exile her from the empire and forbid her from ever showing her face on any planet in the Nine Houses ever again—

Gideon smiled at her, bright and warm. “Thanks! I appreciate it.”

Harrow blinked. “Oh. You’re welcome.”

They both stared out for a few long moments, looking at the moonlit scene around them. “Did you grow up in this house?” Harrow asked after a moment. “Not just the planet, I mean, but this building.”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

Gideon exhaled thoughtfully and stared off into the night sky. It was a look Harrow recognized: the look of someone trying to decide how much information they were going to reveal. Harrow waited patiently for Gideon to speak again. “You know where my dad and the Lyctors live, right? Your dad told you?”

Harrow froze. So Gideon knew exactly who she was. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Or, rather—he told my mother, and my mother told me. I was only a few months old when he left.”

Gideon nodded. “Dad didn’t want me to spend my entire childhood on a space station in the middle of nowhere surrounded with nobody but him and a bunch of stuffy, weird Lyctors—no offense—” (Harrow had no idea how to feel about that) “—so he had this house fixed up for me and had me spend a lot of my time here.”

“Were you alone?”

Gideon shook her head. “Nah, dad always had people from the other houses coming down to watch me and teach me and hang out with me. Well—I say  _ hang out _ , but it was almost always more formal than that. Pretty much the only ones who ever treated me like a real person and not just  _ the holy daughter of God  _ were the kids, but they would stop as soon as their parents caught them and told them that they had to treat me differently. They all treated me like a holy object more than they treated me like a person.” She paused, then a small smile came on her face. “Well, I guess that’s not completely true.”

Harrow raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Have you met Magnus Quinn and Abigail Pent? Fifth house cav and necro, usually chasing down the terrible teens from the Fourth.”

“I haven’t properly met them, but I saw them during your fight earlier.”

Gideon’s smile grew. “They’re amazing. They treated me like I was just a regular kid.”

“And you liked that?”

“It was all I wanted.” Gideon sighed, her smile fading as she turned and stared at the stars again. “There’s something they don’t tell you about being divinity. It’s very, very lonely. It’s hard to feel close to anybody when they see you as above them.”

“Hm.” Harrow drew her arms tight around herself. “Yes, I… I suppose I can understand that.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, staring at the scenery around them. The house was surrounded by lush green gardens on all sides; on this side of the house, the garden faded to a strip of sand that led into water. The water had been bright, shining blue during the day, but it was black and dark now. Harrow was, admittedly, a bit intimidated. Catching her staring, Gideon said, “Have you seen an ocean before, Reverend Daughter?”

“Harrowhark,” she corrected. “Just Harrowhark is fine. And no, I haven’t.”

Gideon smiled. “Harrowhark,” she said softly, almost to herself. And then, louder: “Do you want to get a closer look?”

Harrow looked over at Gideon. “At the ocean?”

“Yeah. We can go down.”

Harrow hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Okay. Yes. Let’s go look at the ocean.”

Gideon grinned and turned towards the door. “Great! Follow me.”

A few minutes later, they were standing at the edge of the sand. “You should take your shoes off,” Gideon said, slipping her own off and casting them aside into the sand. Harrow hesitated for a moment before taking her shoes and cardigan off and carefully setting them to the side. After pausing a moment to roll the sleeves of her nightgown up to her elbows, she took a step forward. Harrow stifled a gasp. She had been expecting the sand to be rough and course and sharp, like the grit that littered the ground of Drearburh. Instead, it was soft, tickling her feet as she took a few cautious steps through it. 

The sand was looser than she was expecting, and she found herself stumbling the first few steps. As she began to stumble again, a strong hand caught her, steadying her. She looked up to see Gideon smiling at her, not unkindly. Harrow tried to find words to say and could come up with nothing. In the absence of words, she just allowed herself to walk in a perfect, comfortable silence, holding Gideon’s hand and walking down to the water.

They paused at the edge of the ocean. Harrow stared down, entranced by the curved movement of the water up onto the stand. She felt a tug on her arm and realized that Gideon had walked up to her ankles in the water and was trying to get Harrow to follow her. Harrow hesitated. “Is it cold?”

“A little, but you get used to it pretty quickly. You don’t have to—”

“No, I will,” said Harrow, who was incapable of hearing those words and not interpreting it as a challenge. She took in a deep breath and stepped into the water. As the water hit her toes, she gasped. It  _ was _ cold _.  _ But as she walked deeper in, she found that Gideon was right—she was starting to feel warmer. Harrow looked up at Gideon, at the moonlight playing off of the sharp edge of her cheekbones and those golden eyes still piercing straight through Harrow. She took in a deep breath, trying to calm her heart. Gideon started walking backwards, eyes twinkling in the moonlight as she pulled her deeper into the water.

They paused when the water was at their knees. Harrow stood, looking up at Gideon. Palamedes had been close to a foot taller than her, but Gideon was definitely a full foot. Gideon glanced down, then frowned. “Oh, shit, sorry. Your nightgown.”

Harrow looked down to see the bottom few inches of her nightgown soaking wet and floating in the water. Across from her, the ends of Gideon’s sweatpants were soaked. “It’s fine, I’ll just change when I go back to my room.”

“Alright.” 

Harrow looked up again to see Gideon smiling at her. In most girls, seeing an incredibly handsome woman smiling at them would fill them with nothing but delight. But for Harrow, it just made her stomach sink with dread, because all she could think was  _ I don’t deserve this kindness.  _

“Harrow?”

Harrow focused back on Gideon to see her looking at her with concern. She tried to banish the dread from her face. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

Harrow took a moment to steady herself enough to answer. “I’m fine. I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day. I think I should get to bed.”

“Alright. I should sleep, too, I have breakfast with Abigail and Magnus in the morning.” She smiled at Harrow as they started walking back to shore. “Can I walk you to your room?”

And here Harrow was faced with a crossroads: the self-hating part of her was screaming  _ you can’t accept that! You deserve no help from anybody, you pathetic, useless girl _ ; but the part of her that had been raised by devout nuns was screaming  _ don’t offend Her Divine Highness.  _ “Sure,” she choked out after a moment.

Gideon’s face lit up. “Thanks.”

When they were nearly at the shore, Harrow’s foot caught on something unseen beneath the waves. She yelped, beginning to rush towards the water. She closed her eyes, dreading the sting of saltwater in her eyes.

The sting never came. Warm, strong arms caught her. When Harrow opened her eyes, Gideon’s face was inches from hers. “You okay, Harrow?”

It took Harrow several long moments to find her voice. “I’m fine,” she finally got out. “Thank you.”

Gideon smiled and helped her stand back up. She held her hand the rest of the way back to the shore and back through the stand. Part of Harrow was deeply offended—she wasn’t some frail little girl who needed help walking, dammit, she was the Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House—but, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to let go. 

When they reached the grass, Gideon let go of Harrow’s hand to pick up her shoes. Harrow felt a surge of disappointment in her chest and pushed it resolutely down, reminding herself that she didn’t deserve kindness or affection. Harrow shrugged back into her cardigan and picked up her shoes. She avoided Gideon’s gaze the entire time they walked back to her room. When they reached the door, they paused outside of it. Gideon reached out and took her hand again. Harrow closed her eyes, willing herself not to lean in closer to Gideon. “Goodnight,” she forced herself to whisper.

A beat passed. “Goodnight, Harrow.”

Gideon lingered for a moment longer before dropping her hand, turning, and walking away. Harrow lifted her head to watch Gideon disappear down the hallway. When she was almost gone, something occurred to Harrow. “Gideon?”

Gideon turned, walking back to Harrow. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, anything.”

Harrow hesitated for a long moment. “Did you know my father? Did you know Priamhark the First?”

Gideon let out a long, low exhale. “Yeah.”

“What was he like? What did you think of him?”

Now it was Gideon’s turn to hesitate. “How much do you remember of him?”

“Absolutely nothing. The Lyctor trials occurred when I was a newborn. I only really got to meet him once, right before…”

Gideon sighed. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Harrow.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, but Harrow had stopped feeling anything about her father’s death a long time ago. “What was he like?” At Gideon’s hesitation, Harrow pressed, “Speak honestly, I implore you.”

“Cold,” Gideon said after another moment. “He never really liked me. Damalia—Saint of Kindness, one of Abigail’s moms—always told me that she thought it was because I reminded him of what he left behind. We’re about the same age, right? I’m nineteen.”

Harrow nodded. “I’m eighteen. So he was… unkind?”

Gideon exhaled, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “Not in the sense of being actively malicious,” she said after a moment, “It was more like… he was a void of kindness, I guess. He never went out of his way to be nice to people. Or pleasant, even. But he didn’t go out of his way to be cruel, either. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“But you don’t have very positive memories of him.” A beat. “Answer honestly.”

“No. I don’t. I’m sorry.” 

Harrow looked at the ground, trying to keep her breathing even. Her heart felt cold in her chest, her blood like ice water in her veins. She had to work very, very hard to breathe. “I should go to bed,” she said after a moment. 

“Alright,” came Gideon’s voice above her, sounding kind—God, so much kinder than Harrow deserved. She forced her eyes closed, trying to shut out the words beginning to echo in her ears.

_ That thing is an unholy abomination— _

“Harrow?” 

Harrow jerked her head up to meet Gideon’s golden eyes. “Yes?” she choked out after a moment. 

“Harrow, are you—”

Harrow turned towards her door. “I need to sleep. Goodnight, Gideon.”

“Oh, uh—goodnight, Harrow. Sleep well.”

Harrow walked inside, shutting the door behind her without a word. She changed into another nightgown, forcing herself to focus on the motions and nothing else. The second she got into bed and curled up under the blankets, her father and mother’s voices began to echo in her head, repeating the same words over and over. The conversation that had been burned into her mind since she was ten. Harrow curled up tight, and she—well, she didn’t  _ cry _ , exactly. Harrow couldn’t remember the last time she cried. There were no tears on her face. But she let out several shaky, choked gasps that sounded an awful lot like sobbing. 

Finally, after who knows how long trying to fight off the voices, she slipped off into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on Tumblr at cyberian-demons.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Gideon has a friendly bout of sparring with Jeannemary and Camilla, Naberius taunts her into fighting him. Gideon makes some bad decisions.

All told, Harrow probably only got four or five hours of sleep that night. That was hardly an issue, though—Harrow had sat by someone’s death bed until the early hours of the morning and then spoken eloquently to her congregation an hour later.

So as she struggled with focusing on what Palamedes was explaining to her, she was certain that her lack of sleep wasn’t impacting her focus. So what was?

“Nonagesimus?”

Harrow snapped back to attention. “Yes?”

“I asked what you thought of this theorem.”

“Right, yes, I was just looking it over.”

Palamedes didn’t look entirely convinced. “Right.”

Harrow cleared her throat and looked down at the flimsy that Palamedes had been scribbling on. “It’s interesting,” she said after several moments. “It’s certainly not the most effective process, though.”

Palamedes raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“Here…” She took the pencil from him, grabbed another sheet of flimsy, and began writing notes and diagrams on it. As they went back and forth in their discussion, critiquing and refining each other’s processes, Camilla fidgeted and suppressed a yawn behind them. 

After a few more hours of work, Camilla’s voice cut through their discussion. “Warden.”

Palamedes sat up, looking over at his cavalier. “Cam.”

“You’ve been working for hours and you skipped breakfast this morning. You need to stop and eat.”

“We were just about to—”

“Warden.” 

They looked at each other for a moment, apparently continuing their argument entirely nonverbally. After a few moments, Palamedes appeared to lose. He sighed and turned back to Harrow. “She’s right, unfortunately. I don’t want to go so long without eating that I pass out.”

Harrow raised her eyebrows. “Has that happened before?”

“Many times,” Camilla said.

Palamedes sighed. “Yeah, it—”

“Too many to count.”

“Yep. It—”

“Horrifyingly often, in fact.”

Palamedes looked back at Camilly. Both of their mouths quirked up in almost-smiles. “I can always trust you to keep me humble, Camilla.”

“That’s why I’m here, Warden.”

Palamedes turned to Harrow. He took in a deep breath. “Harrow, it’s been a long time since anyone critiqued my work as harshly as you did. You’re absolutely ruthless.” Before Harrow could defend herself, his face broke out into a small smile. “Thank you. That was  _ great _ .”

Harrow blinked. “Right. Of course.”

“Can we come back tomorrow? I want to hear more about regenerating bone.” 

Harrow hesitated, turning that offer over in her head. The more information she gave away, the more nervous she grew. But it was interesting, getting to learn more about a branch of necromancy she hadn’t practiced much. And this had to count as building a relationship with another house, right? The Sixth weren’t the most prosperous house, but this had to count for something. “Alright,” she finally said.

Palamedes didn’t smile, exactly, but he did look rather satisfied. “Great. Same time?”

“Alright.”

Palamedes threw all of the papers they had been using into the massive bag at his feet before looking over at Camilla. “Ready, Cam?”

“More than.”

And they parted ways. Harrow, somewhat exhausted from just that amount of social interaction, took a few books from the library and holed up in her room with them for most of the rest of the day. She left her room at dinnertime, making her way cautiously down to the dining room. 

When she arrived, she saw Gideon, Palamedes, Camilla, and the Seventh necromancer at a table together. Gideon met her eyes, grinned, and waved her over.

Harrow walked over, anxiously clutching at the prayer beads in her pocket as she went. “Hey, Harrow!” Gideon said with a wide smile as she arrived. She gestured to the empty seat next to her. Harrow nodded and sat down. A few moments later, a skeleton came up and sat a plate of food down for her. Harrow looked over at Gideon and took in the large sword currently sheathed and slung over the back of her chair. Seeing her staring at it, Gideon grinned. “Do you like it? Heleus—one of the Lyctors, Saint of Justice—gave it to me for my twelfth birthday. Dad almost had a heart attack. It was great. I’ve been carrying it around in case I need to kick Naberius’ ass again.” Camilla let out a quiet sound that was almost a laugh. “Really, though, I just like carrying it around. It makes me feel safer.”

Harrow raised an eyebrow. “Are we in much danger?”

“Old planet. Lots of ghosts. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“I suppose.”

The Seventh necromancer smiled at Harrow and extended her hand. “Hello! Dulcinea Septimus. You can call me Dulcie.”

Harrow shook it. “Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus.” And then, after a beat, somewhat reluctantly: “You can call me Harrow.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Harrow.” Dulcie was sitting between Camilla and Palamedes, which was admittedly a bit surprising to Harrow, as she had already gotten the impression that the two weren’t easily separated. Dulcie extended both of her arms out, wrapping around both of them. And then, even more surprising: they both  _ smiled _ . The smiles were small; on anyone else, Harrow would have hesitated to even call it  _ smiling.  _ But on Camilla and Palamedes, it might as well have been a grin from ear to ear. “Have you met Pal and Cam?” 

“Yes,” Palamedes said before Harrow could reply. “Nonagesimus and I were discussing necromancy earlier.”

Dulcie brought her hands back together to clap. “Wonderful! I’m so glad you two are making more friends.” She turned to Harrow. “Are you enjoying it here?”

Harrow paused for a moment. She looked up, meeting Gideon’s eyes. Gideon was looking at her with a small smile on her mouth, a small quirk to her brow. “Yes. I am.”

“Had you left the Ninth House before?”

Harrow shook her head. “No. Never.”

Dulcie leaned forward. “Will you tell me about the Ninth House? I’d be so fascinated to learn more.”

“Oh.” Harrow took in a deep breath. “Yes, alright. What do you want to know?”

Dulcie smiled. “Everything.”

And she did. If there was one thing that Harrowhark could do, it was talk at great length about the Ninth. Dulcie, for her part, was a delightfully attentive audience, listening very intently and asking thoughtful questions. When they came to a stop and the group’s conversation moved on, Harrow felt a pair of eyes on her. She turned to see Camilla staring at her. In response to Harrow’s quirked eyebrow, Camilla said, “You got so distracted talking that you haven’t eaten.”

“Oh.” Harrow began to take cautious bites of the food. Camilla sighed, and Harrow swore she heard her mutter “ _ Necromancers… _ ”

Dinner wound to a close shortly after that. Dulcie, Camilla, and Palamedes excused themselves, leaving Gideon and Harrow alone. Gideon smiled over at Harrow. “How have you been enjoying it here?”

Harrow paused, considering. “It’s… nice. It’s different from what I’m used to. But this place has a certain charm to it.”

Gideon stood, slinging her sword onto her back. Harrow tried not to stare at the way her muscles flexed when she did. “I usually go for a walk at night. If you wanna see more of the charm, you’re welcome to come with me.” 

Harrow turned that over for a moment before nodding and standing up. “Alright. Where are we going?”

“The gardens. Come on.” 

Gideon guided Harrow through the halls and out a set of glass double doors into the garden surrounding the home. Last time they had been outside together, Harrow had found herself captivated by the sea. Tonight, it was the stars that grabbed her attention. She tilted her head up, staring at them until she made herself dizzy. “Do you like the stars?” Gideon asked. 

Harrow blinked a few times, turning her gaze back to Gideon. “I think so. I’m not used to seeing this many. Drearburh—my home—is underground. There’s a shaft leading up to the surface that shuttles come through, but it’s hard to see anything.”

“Sounds a little claustrophobic.”

“I like it,” Harrow said, trying and failing not to sound defensive.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your home. I’m sure it’s lovely.” 

“Thank you.” Harrow turned her gaze back to the sky.

“Maybe I should visit sometime.”

Harrow looked back at Gideon, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of her heart. “Maybe. Perhaps after you marry, you and your wife can come to see Drearburh.”

A look came over Gideon’s face that Harrow couldn’t quite decipher. “Right,” she said. “Maybe, yeah.”

They fell silent, continuing their walk together. A few minutes later, Gideon paused. “Here, look up.”

Harrow turned her gaze upwards. “At what?”

Gideon pointed at a particularly bright star. “Do you see that? That bright dot right there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s actually the Second House.”

“Really? You can see it from here?”

“On the right night, yeah. And that one over there, the brighter one, that’s the Seventh.” They stood there together for a few moments. “When I was younger,” Gideon said softly, “I’d come out here every night and try to figure out what houses I could see. They were so far away, but… just knowing that they were out there made me feel a little less alone.” She laughed. “Is that stupid?”

“I don’t think so, no.” Harrow stared at the houses standing brilliant in the sky. 

“Do you have a lot of friends back home, Harrow?”

Harrow bit back a laugh. The closest person to her age on the entire planet was a 36-year-old amateur poet who she had barely ever had a full conversation with. But she couldn’t exactly say that, so she just said, “No. No, not really.”

Gideon sighed. “It’s lonely, isn’t it?” Harrow didn’t respond, unsure what to say. Gideon smiled. “But we’re both here right now. So at least until you leave, we can be lonely together.” Harrow actually laughed at that. As she did, Gideon’s face lit up. Harrow couldn’t quite figure out why that made her so happy. “Maybe after you go home, we can write letters or something.”

“Maybe.” Harrow tried to speak again, but was cut off by a yawn. 

Gideon chuckled. “Tired?”

“No—” She was cut off by another yawn. 

“How about we get to bed?” Gideon said with a grin. Harrow hesitated. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want to walk away from this. She wanted to keep walking the gardens with Gideon until the sun rose. Apparently seeing her hesitation, Gideon said, “I go on walks every night. You could start coming with me.”

Harrow had to mull that over for a moment. In general, the idea of spending time with somebody every night when she could be alone seemed horrible. But… for some reason, it didn’t seem horrible when that person was Gideon. “Alright,” she finally said. “Same time tomorrow?”

Gideon grinned. “Same time tomorrow. Let’s head back to the house.”

As they walked back inside, Harrow tried to make sense of what she was feeling. What was the strange, fluttering emotion in her chest when she looked at or spoke to or even just  _ thought of  _ Gideon? Why was Harrow so eager to spend time with her? Was she falling ill? Was she dying?

By the time they reached Harrow’s room, she still had no idea what the answer was. The two women turned to each other, Gideon looking down at Harrow as Harrow looked up at her. “Goodnight, Harrow,” Gideon said, voice soft. 

Harrow tried to keep her voice steady as she replied. “Goodnight, Gideon.”

Gideon looked at her for a moment as if she wanted to say something more. But when Harrow yawned again, she just chuckled, repeated “Goodnight,” and walked away. 

Over the course of the next month, Harrow fell into a startlingly comfortable routine. Morning: wake up; bathe; breakfast with the Sixth (a routine that, somewhat suspiciously, only started when Harrow let it slip that she often forgot to eat in the morning. That could have been coincidence, though. Maybe Palamedes was just waiting for an opportunity to ask Harrow more questions about bone magic). Afternoon: study with Palamedes; lunch; alternate between exploring the house and its extensive grounds and practicing necromancy on her own. Evening: dinner with the Sixth, Gideon, usually Dulcinea, and sometimes the dreadful teens from the Fourth. Night: walk with Gideon, sometimes for hours at a time. 

It was strange, Harrow realized as she was waking up one morning. For the entire past month, she had certainly been representing her house, but she hadn’t been expected to fulfill her duties as Reverend Daughter. There were no sermons to give or congregants to guide. She was of the Ninth House, certainly, but she was also Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Or—no. She was just Harrow. She couldn’t remember ever being  _ just Harrow _ .

Later that day, Harrow and Palamedes had been studying in the library for about two hours when Camilla spoke. “Warden.”

Palamedes sat up and looked over at her. “Camilla.”

“It’s almost noon.”

Palamedes squinted at the clock on the wall. “So it is. I’ll wrap up.”

Harrow looked at Palamedes. “What’s happening at noon?”

“Prim and Chatur are training.”

Harrow raised an eyebrow at Camilla. “Hoping to fight Gideon, too?”

“Yes,” she answered plainly. 

That almost-a-smile look came on Palamedes’ face. “And here I thought you said you weren’t vying for her affections, Cam.”

Camilla’s cheeks darkened as she narrowed her eyes at him. “ _ Warden _ .”

“Sorry, sorry.” He sighed, looking down at the books and flimsy spread across the table. “You  _ could  _ go alone.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Something could happen to you.”

“We’re just in a library,” Harrow said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Palamedes sighed again. “No, she’s right. We should stick together.” He looked over at Harrow. “I’ve barely seen your cavalier, Nonagesimus.”

Harrow internally floundered for a moment, wondering how to explain herself. “I like my space,” she said finally. 

Palamedes made a small, surprised noise. He looked back at Camilla. “I couldn’t imagine not having Cam around.”

“If I left you alone for too long, you would definitely die,” Camilla said, still no trace of emotion on her face or in her voice.

Harrow expected Palamedes to be offended, but he just gave his cavalier a look that bordered on affectionate. “That’s true. I’d be a ruin without you.” He turned back to Harrow. “Do you want to come?”

“What?” Harrow felt her heart begin to speed up. “To watch Gideon fight?”

“Well, yes. Are you coming or not?”

Harrow froze. After a few moments, she stood. “Alright. I’ll come.”

“Great. Come on.”

They exited the library, Camilla leading the way. When they walked inside the training room, Gideon and Jeannemary were standing on the large mat on the floor while Isaac watched from his spot leaning against the wall. The Third House sat on a bench on another wall, watching Gideon and Jeannemary. All heads turned towards the door as they entered. Gideon’s face broke into a smile. “Hey! Nice to see you three.”

“Hey, Prim,” Palamedes said. He jerked his head back at Camilla. “Cam was hoping to get in on the action after Jeannemary.”

Gideon grinned. “I think that could be arranged. Jeannemary and I just finished, actually; we got started a bit early.”

“Jeannemary was amazing,” Isaac said immediately. 

Jeannemary looked embarrassed. “ _ Isaac _ !”

Gideon grinned. “She was! She’s a great fighter. Do you want to go now, Camilla?” 

Camilla fidgeted for a moment, stretching her arms and rolling her neck before giving a plain “Yes.”

Palamedes and Harrow walked over to the wall that Isaac was leaning against. Palamedes joined him in leaning against the wall while Harrow stood just in front of it, back straight. Jeannemary shook Gideon’s hand before turning and joining the others, standing next to Isaac in the same position as Harrow. Camilla took off her grey robes, revealing dark grey pants and a fitted, long-sleeved, light grey shirt underneath. She handed her robe to Palamedes, who hung it over his shoulder. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Camilla began whispering, and Harrow strained to hear. “I’m not going to go easy on her.” For many cavaliers, it would have been a question:  _ Am I allowed to hit the Emperor’s daughter as hard as I can?  _ For Camilla, it was a simple statement.

Palamedes just nodded. “As you shouldn’t. Go do your thing, Cam.” He didn’t wish her good luck. Maybe he thought she didn’t need it. Maybe the Sixth House, prided for their logic and reason, thought that concepts like  _ luck  _ were juvenile superstitions. Either could be true.

Camilla nodded and walked over to the mat, facing Gideon. “To the floor or to the touch?” Gideon asked. 

Camilla considered for a moment before saying “To the floor” in the same tone as if she was telling somebody what her favorite shade of grey was. 

Gideon looked around the room. “Who wants to arbitrate?”

“I’ll do it,” said Ianthe on the other side of the room. She stood, looking at the fighters with a purposefully bored expression that couldn’t hide the hunger in her eyes. She stood, rolled her neck, and sighed. “To the floor. Clavicle to sacrum, arms exception. Call.”

Camilla stood perfectly still, nearly a statue in her straight-backed form. “Camilla the Sixth.”

Gideon took a deep breath to steady herself as she sized Camilla up. “Gideon the First.”

“Begin!”

The exact second that the word  _ begin _ exited Ianthe’s mouth, Camilla sprung into a flurry of action that Harrow nearly couldn’t follow. Gideon clearly hadn’t been expecting her to move so quickly, and for the next several seconds she could do nothing but parry and try to regain her footing. Harrow glanced over at Palamedes. He was very nearly expressionless, except for the barest hint of a smile turning up the corner of his mouth. 

Harrow looked back to the fight. Gideon had regained her footing now; she was able to make strikes of her own instead of just avoiding Camilla’s. Small cuts were appearing on each of the women’s arms now—neither of them were fighting hard enough to maim the other, but Gideon had a few small red lines decorating her skin and there were a few cuts in the sleeves of Camilla’s shirt. 

Gideon lunged at Camilla. Camilla rolled her body along Gideon’s other side in a rapid, fluid motion, putting herself behind Gideon. Before Gideon had time to turn around to face her, Camilla kicked her square in the back. Harrow straightened up as Gideon fell to the floor, rapier falling from her grip and sliding across the floor.

“Match to the Sixth!” called Ianthe.

“ _ Geez _ ,” Jeannemary muttered, eyes wide. “She’s so  _ fast _ .”

Gideon rolled over onto her back and grinned up at Camilla. “You’re good, Cam!” she panted out. 

Camilla’s mouth quirked up into a small smile, just for a moment. She bent down, extending a hand to Gideon. Gideon took it, letting Camilla help pull her up. “So are you.”

Snickering sounded from the other side of the room. Everybody turned to see Naberius, barely concealing snickers behind his hand. Corona turned and glared at him. “Babs! What do you think you’re doing?”

Naberius cleared his throat, trying to hide his laughter. “Sorry, Corona, it’s just—I never thought I’d see the daughter of the Emperor lose a fight to the  _ Sixth. _ ” 

Camilla’s eyes narrowed. Palamedes gave Naberius a stony glare. “What did you just say?”

Gideon picked her sword up before glaring at him with an intensity that nearly matched Palamedes’. “There’s no shame in losing to a good fighter.”

“I’ve never heard anybody describe someone from the Sixth House as a  _ good fighter. _ ”

“Well,” Palamedes said, voice tight, “Clearly you’ve never heard somebody describe Camilla Hect.”

“And if you’re trying to imply that Gideon is a poor fighter for this,” Harrow said, “I’d remind you that she beat you the first night we were here.”

“Only because I was distracted. If we fought again, I’d beat her.” 

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes. It is. Unless you want me to go easy on you, of course.” He put on a faux-kind face. “I don’t want to offend the daughter of the Emperor.”

“Babs!” Corona hissed. 

Harrow turned to Gideon, praying that she wasn’t going to fall for this. “You won’t,” Gideon said. “Fight me now.” 

“Oh, God,” Harrow muttered.

Corona swatted Babs on the arm, hard. “Naberius Tern, you  _ cannot  _ do this—”

“Oh, I quite disagree,” said Ianthe. “I’d love to see this.”

Corona looked at Ianthe, face pleading. “Ianthe—”

“I want to see Naberius fight Gideon.” She looked down at her sister, quirking an eyebrow, wordlessly daring her to say otherwise.

Corona deflated. “Alright,” she said quietly. “Babs, go on.”

Naberius stood up, walking over to the mat. He wasn’t in that tacky suit he had worn the first night, but his casual clothes were equally garish and equally tacky. Granted, Harrow viewed all non-black clothing as garish, but his seemed particularly so. Naberius shed his jacket, discarding it on the floor behind him. He had a look on his face that clearly said  _ I think this is going to be easy, and also, I’m a huge asshole.  _ The last part was presumably unintentional. 

Gideon stretched her arms out a few times before getting into pose. “To the floor or to the touch?” 

“Necromancer’s mercy is funnest,” Ianthe said idly. Naberius turned to her, eyes wide and alarmed.

Harrow frowned. “‘Necromancer’s mercy’?”

“It means you fight until somebody gives in,” Jeannemary said, eyes wide. “It can get  _ brutal. _ ”

“I’m not a cavalier,” Gideon said, brow furrowed. “I don’t have a necromancer to... call for me...” As she finished the sentence, though, she turned and looked at Harrow. She raised her eyebrows and quirked her head to the side.

“Hm,” Ianthe said. “Too bad. That would have been—”

“I’ll stand in as Gideon’s necromancer,” Harrow said, stepping forward. “I’ll call for her.” Jeannemary and Isaac both gasped.

Gideon grinned at her, that wonderfully sunny grin, and Harrow’s heart sped up. Gideon walked over. “Thanks, Harrow,” she said quietly. “Don’t go easy, okay? I can take a lot. Wait until I look like I’m dying to call for mercy. Like, literally dying.”

Harrow eyed her warily. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Gideon took Harrow’s hand, brought it up to her mouth, and—oh, God—kissed the back of it. Harrow, feeling her face heat up to about a million degrees, had never been more glad that she wore facepaint. “Thank you.”

“Yes,” Harrow choked out after a moment. “Good luck, Gideon.” Gideon winked at her before returning to the mat. 

“Hyoid down, disarm legal, necromancer’s mercy,” Ianthe said. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Gideon.

“Yeah, agreed,” said Naberius, who didn’t look very happy at all.

Spotting his hesitance, Ianthe quirked an eyebrow. “Unless you’re about to embarrass the Third House and back out, Babs.”

Naberius scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Then wipe that stupid frown off your face and get into position.” He did, but he still didn’t look entirely pleased. Ianthe rolled her eyes. “Call.”

Gideon took in a deep breath. “Gideon the First.”

Naberius looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “Naberius the Third.”

“Begin,” Ianthe called.

Gideon lunged at him first. He dodged, beginning to keep her at bay. As the fight went on, Harrow followed Gideon’s movements and noticed something. She was holding herself back from actually seriously harming Naberius. Harrow suppressed a groan. That horrible, wonderful, stupid, good-hearted girl.

And then Naberius slashed at her arm, cutting a long gash in it. She cried out, nearly dropping her rapier. As Harrow straightened her back and moved to step forward, Gideon met her eyes and gave a minute shake of her head. Harrow bit her tongue.

All bets were off, now. Both of them were hitting as brutally as they liked. And in this, Harrow realized, Gideon was starting to come out on top. Even with the pressure raised, Naberius still fought like somebody trained for fights under strict rules—fights intended for show, for training, to resolve disputes. Gideon fought like Naberius was trying to kill her and she desperately wanted to live. She was quickly gaining ground.

Naberius, in what seemed to be a desperate move, threw himself at Gideon—narrowly dodging her blade—and knocked her to the ground. Laying splayed out on the ground, her sword hand was extended above her and her left hand laid by Naberius’ foot. She started moving. In a split second, she would be up. Naberius took that second and stomped on her left hand. Harrow heard a sickening  _ crack! _ as Gideon cried out. 

Palamedes let out a shocked cry, jerking forward as if he was going to run to the mat. Camilla’s hand on his arm stopped him. “That can’t be legal!” he yelled. 

“It’s legal,” said Coronabeth, looking and sounding miserable. 

Harrow only realized that she, too, had started moving towards the mat when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned back to see Camilla, firmly tugging her back. Camilla met her gaze and raised her eyebrows. Remembering the rules, Harrow opened her mouth to call mercy. Before she could, Gideon threw herself back up to her feet. That horrible, wonderful girl was still going. And now she was  _ pissed.  _ She fought with a new ferocity, managing to get several cuts in on Naberius’ arms and one in on his leg. Gideon was more injured than Naberius, but he was beginning to panic. He came at Gideon with his trident knife. She reached up and grabbed the blade with her bare hand. This apparently shocked him enough to loosen his grip, and Gideon wrenched it out of his hand and tossed it to the side. Blood was running down her hand, but she barely seemed to notice.

Gideon slammed her bodyweight into him. He crashed to the ground. Gideon put a boot on his chest, holding him down, and placed the tip of her rapier on his left upper arm. She paused there. All eyes in the room—including Naberius and Gideon—turned to Ianthe. Ianthe was watching with a horrible grin on her face, making no move to call. “Ianthe!” Corona said sharply.

“Hush, Corona,” Ianthe said, not even looking at her. Corona slumped against the wall and said nothing further.

Everybody looked back to the mat. Gideon looked down at Naberius nearly apologetically before thrusting the blade of her rapier an inch or two into his arm. He cried out as blood began to flow from the wound. 

“Ianthe, for God’s sake!!” Palamedes snapped. 

Ianthe, looking rather bored, yawned and waited a few more moments before saying “Mercy.”

Gideon immediately withdrew her rapier from Naberius’ flesh. He let out another cry as she did. Gideon bent down, pressing her unbroken hand to the wound. Naberius grunted and shoved her away. “Get off of me!”

“Fuck, alright.” Gideon stood, walking away. She staggered back a few steps before taking a seat on the other end of the mat. Corona ran over to Naberius as Harrow hurried to Gideon. As Harrow rushed past Naberius, she noticed that Corona wasn’t healing him—she was just staring up at Ianthe, face pleading. 

Harrow didn’t have time to deal with that, though. She knelt down next to Gideon, ignoring everything else in the room. “Are you alright?”

Gideon gave her a bloody smile. “I’m super.”

Harrow huffed. “You’re an idiot. Give me your broken hand.” Before she could think too hard about how she just called the daughter of God an  _ idiot _ , Gideon lifted her broken hand and leaned her body against Harrow’s shoulders. 

Gideon closed her eyes. “How bad does it look?”

“Bad. This is going to hurt.”

Gideon grimaced. “Alright.”

Harrow began the process of mending her broken bones back together. Gideon, holding her mouth closed with her other hand, let out a muffled cry. After a few minutes that were assuredly agonizing for Gideon, Harrow dropped her hands and pulled back. “Alright, done. How is it?”

Gideon opened her eyes and looked at her hand. She flexed it a few times, moving each of the joints. “Harrow!” She turned to her and grinned. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” 

Harrow felt her face heat up under her paint. “Don’t mention it.”

Two shadows fell over them. They looked up to see Camilla and Palamedes standing there, Palamedes’ big bag in Camilla’s hands. Palamedes knelt down, looking at the cuts on Gideon’s arm and the large gash on her hand. “Want me to patch those up?”

“Are you good with flesh magic?”

“Not particularly, but I have bandages. Not everything needs to be solved with necromancy, you know. Cam?” Camilla set the bag next to him. He opened it and began digging around, quickly pulling out bandages and a bottle of something. “Ianthe is horrible,” he muttered as he began tending to Gideon’s wounds. 

“Yeah, she’s kind of a bitch. Ow!”

“Calm down, it’s just antiseptic. You can’t tell me it hurts more than that fight.”

“It doesn’t, but it still stings.”

Harrow and Camilla hovered awkwardly next to them as Palamedes patched Gideon up, Harrow on the ground next to Gideon and Camilla standing above all three of them. Harrow glanced up at Camilla. To a careless observer, her posture would seem relaxed, her fidgeting impatient, her expression bored. Harrow looked at her and saw her entire body ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice, her gaze darting around the room for any potential sign of danger, her fingers periodically brushing against the… whatever the end of a sword was called. The second that danger struck, Camilla Hect would be ready. Harrow could certainly admire that.

A few minutes later, Palamedes applied the last bandage. “There. Done.”

Gideon stretched her arms out, examining the bandages. “Thank you.”

Palamedes nodded, closed his bag, and stood. “Let me know if they get infected. Do you know the signs of that?” Gideon shook her head. Palamedes sighed rather dramatically, but his exaggerated frustration couldn’t hide the lingering worry in his eyes. “If any of your wounds swell, look red, or start to hurt more; if there’s pus coming out of any of them; if you have a fever; or if you start feeling unwell overall. Your wounds should hurt less and less if time goes on. If they start hurting worse, come to me. Alright?”

“Yeah, will do. Thank you.” Gideon began to stand, wincing as she went. Camilla immediately bent down, helping her stand. “Thanks, Cam.” Camilla made a noncommittal noise and stepped back. 

Gideon trained her eyes on Ianthe, who was standing up and brushing her hands off. Naberius was still on the floor beneath her. His wound was closed, but he was obviously still in large amounts of pain. Ianthe looked bored. Gideon took in a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, and Harrow realized that she was about to do something very stupid. “ _ Gideon— _ ”

“Just give me a second, Harrow.” Gideon walked over to Ianthe. Harrow and Palamedes exchanged a long look. Camilla, for her part, actually looked somewhat interested to see where this was about to go.

Ianthe turned to her with a horrifically fake smile. “Well, wasn’t that quite a lot of fun.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Yes,  _ exactly _ ! I should thank you, Gideon, you really taught him a good lesson about—”

“You know, Ianthe, you’re  _ just  _ like your mother.”

Ianthe froze. Corona sucked in a harsh breath. The entire room seemed to stand still. The terrible teens were still clutching each other. Ianthe’s smile turned from fake to lethal. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I had the misfortune of growing up around your mother—being around her every time I was with my dad—and she’s a horrifying, stone-cold bitch who acts like other people are only there to entertain her. She acts like the world is a book, she’s the main character, and every other person in the universe is just a supporting character in the story of Dinabeth the First. She’s genuinely the worst woman I’ve ever met.”

Ianthe’s smile hadn’t moved. So it was with that smile on her face that she said, “You had better shut your  _ fucking  _ mouth before I shut it for you.”

“I’m just saying, I’m not surprised that Dinabeth’s daughter is such a cold-hearted—”

Ianthe ducked down and grabbed Naberius’ dagger from his belt. He made a startled noise of protest as Ianthe raised it and held it up to Gideon’s throat. Gideon didn’t flinch. They stood frozen like that, Gideon’s expression stony, Ianthe’s mouth twisted into a small, manic grin, her eyes wide and full of hate.

Harrow ran over, one hand going to the bone chips in her pocket to throw some at the ground. A hand grabbing her wrist stopped her, and she turned to see Palamedes looking at her and shaking his head very slightly.

“Enough, both of you,” Camilla said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “Cut it out.”

Ianthe laughed. “I don’t need to listen to some bookworm’s mediocre cavalier. You’re absolutely pathetic, you can’t tell me what to do.”

At  _ pathetic, _ Palamedes dropped Harrow’s wrist and started walking towards Ianthe, eyes narrowed. Harrow looked over to the terrible teenagers to see Jeannemary breaking free from Isaac’s grip, ignoring his pleas to stay, and walking towards Ianthe as she began to draw her sword. Naberius had stood up and was drawing another dagger from his belt as Camilla walked forward to join her necromancer, hand on the hilt of her rapier. Corona, for her part, didn’t move, just staring at the scene before her with wide eyes that looked partially horrified and partially excited.

“Enough!” Harrow snapped. Everybody turned to look at her. “We’re done. Let’s all walk away.” Harrow was the shortest person in the room after the teenagers—alright, after Isaac—but she had been leading sermons and prayers since she was ten years old. She knew how to command a room. 

Ianthe didn’t lower the dagger, but when Gideon stepped back from it, she didn’t follow. When Gideon was several steps away, she reached behind her to hand it back to Naberius without looking away from Gideon. She looked Gideon right in the eyes. “I don’t care if you’re God’s daughter,” she said quietly, calmly. “I fucking hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual, Tridentarius.” Gideon turned. Harrow kept an eye on Ianthe, not trusting her to not go for Gideon when her back was turned. Gideon rejoined Harrow, Palamedes, and Camilla. After a moment, the horrible teens rushed over to hover next to them. 

“Are you okay, Gideon?” Isaac asked, voice quiet, eyes wide and scared. 

Gideon smiled down at him, but the soothing effect was somewhat lessened by the dried blood at the corner of her mouth. “I’m fine. Come on, let’s go get lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on Tumblr at cyberian-demons.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some guidance from the Fifth and interference from the Sixth, Harrow prepares to apologize to Gideon. However, her apology is interrupted by someone of the Third House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who commented! It's been a hard week over here for numerous reasons, and getting comments really makes my day.

Harrow was rather quiet during the lunch they all had together after the fight. Both Gideon and—surprisingly—Palamedes kept shooting her worried glances. She didn’t entirely know how to deal with that. Care from Gideon was surprising enough, but adding Palamedes on top of that made the entire thing feel completely unreal. 

The only way she could make Palamedes make sense in her head was if he was being nice to her because he wanted something from her. But she had very little to offer compared to the other houses, and the only other heir she noticed him being that nice to was Dulcie. The Houses who had the most to offer would be the Third and Fifth, but he was ambivalent towards Abigail and Magnus, and while he seemed to like Corona just fine, he made his distaste of Ianthe and Naberius perfectly clear. If he was being nice to people he wanted things from, he was doing a pretty shitty job at it.

When they wrapped up lunch, Harrow leaned over to Gideon and quietly asked, “Gideon, could I talk to you alone?”

Gideon looked down at her, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. “Uh, sure.” Behind her, Palamedes and Camilla exchanged a look. They seemed to do a great deal of communication through exchanging silent looks to each other. Gideon stood and smiled at Palamedes, Camilla, and the horrible teenagers. “Thanks for hanging out with me, you four. Catch you later.”

Harrow waited just long enough for the others to bid their goodbyes to Gideon before grabbing her by the arm and dragging her away. She held onto Gideon’s arm the entire walk to her room, only letting go to unlock and open the door.

Gideon walked in after Harrow. Her eyes widened as she looked around the room, taking in all of the bones that Harrow had hung from the walls and scattered across every flat surface. “Oh! Uh. You decorated.”

“Wards. I wanted to make sure I was safe.”

“Right. So…” She put her hands in her pockets, trying and failing to look very nonchalant. “What did you want to talk about?”

Harrow took in a few deep breaths to calm herself, determined to have this conversation calmly. The second she opened her mouth, her voice came out raised and sharp. “Why the hell did you do that? Falling for Naberius’ taunts, insulting Ianthe—why?! It was a horrible decision!”

Gideon’s posture immediately shifted to defensive. “The fight with Naberius was just a fight. I thought I could take him, and I was right.”

“But he broke your hand!”

“You fixed it!”

“And what if I hadn’t been there? What then?”

A beat passed in silence before Gideon spoke again. “I insulted Ianthe because she acts like the kind of person who’s never had anyone call her on her bullshit, and I thought that somebody finally should.”

“And now at least one of the heirs to the Third house hates you.”

“So?”

“‘So’!” Harrow let out a frustrated sound somewhere between a shriek and a groan. “So they’re  _ powerful,  _ Gideon! That could come back to bite you in the ass! You can’t just get away with whatever you want because you’re the Emperor’s daughter.”

Gideon’s face flushed dark as she glared at Harrow. “I don’t think that I can! I’m not some spoiled little brat who hides behind my daddy to do whatever I want. Someone needed to stand up to Ianthe, so I did. That’s it.”

“But you put yourself in danger to do it!”

“That’s fine!”

“It is  _ not!” _

“Well, why do you care? You hardly even know me!”

A beat passed in near silence, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing and the occasional clinking of bones blowing in the air from the AC. “Maybe I don’t,” Harrow said, making her voice as cold as she could. “Maybe I don’t care if you get hurt. Maybe this was just—misplaced devotion to the Emperor. You’re right. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. We’re not friends.”

For a brief moment, Gideon’s face slid to an expression that looked an awful lot like sorrow. A moment later, it was replaced by a cold glare. “Fine. I’ll see myself out, then. See you around, Nonagesimus.”

Harrow remained silent as Gideon left, shutting the door forcefully behind her. When she was gone, Harrow walked over to the door, locked it, and then put her back to it and slid down to the floor. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had she done that? What was  _ wrong  _ with her?

After several minutes of wallowing in self-pity, she forced herself to remember that this was, after all, for the best. She was a monster. It was  _ good  _ that Gideon wouldn’t get any closer to her. Harrow was an unholy abomination who ruined everything she touched. If Gideon hated her, kept her distance from her, at least that meant that Harrow couldn’t hurt her. It was the best possible course of action. 

So why did Harrow feel like her heart had been ripped out?

Harrow and Gideon avoided each other for the rest of the day and the entire day after that. The night after their argument, Harrow was sitting in her room eating dinner and feeling rather miserable. Aiglamene sat across from her as Harrow apathetically discussed the socializing she had done over the past month. She had mostly spoken with Palamedes and Camilla, which appeared to at least somewhat satisfy Aiglamene. Somewhat. In 18 years of life, Harrow had never seen Aiglamene entirely satisfied. 

“You know,” Aiglamene said, “It would be extremely beneficial to form an alliance with the Third—”

“Out of the question,” Harrow snapped. 

Aiglamene took in a few deep breaths before continuing. “The Fifth, then.”

“The Fifth’s version of helping us would be to take us over entirely.”

“You don’t need to allow them that close. They love tradition, don’t they? Lady Pent would likely be very sympathetic if you told her that we need help that will allow us to uphold our own traditions.”

Harrow thought for a moment. “What are our other options? What about the Seventh? Dulcie is nice.”

Aiglamene quirked an eyebrow. “‘Dulcie’?”

Harrow blushed. “Lady Septimus. What about her?”

Aiglamene sighed. “You could try, but the Seventh doesn’t have the resources the Fifth has. The Eighth.”

“The Eighth scion hates the Ninth.”

“Fourth.”

“They’re children, what can they do?”

“Second.”

“I can barely carry a conversation with them.”

“Then we arrive back to the Fifth, my lady.”

Harrow considered that for a long moment. “Fine. I’ll go talk to Pent and Quinn.”

If Aiglamene was satisfied, her impassive face didn’t show it. “Very well.”

Bright and early the next morning, Harrow stood outside the Fifth’s bedroom door. She took in a deep, steadying breath and knocked. A moment later, she heard a muffled “One moment!” from the other side. 

A minute or so later, the door opened to reveal Magnus Quinn standing there in pajama pants and a t-shirt with his coat thrown on over it. He blinked blearily at her before smiling. “Good morning, Ninth! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

As Harrow prepared to speak, soft footsteps sounded behind Magnus. Abigail Pent appeared, dressed in a brown dress with a green cardigan overtop. She stood next to her husband and smiled at Harrow as Magnus wrapped an arm casually around her shoulder, then turned his head briefly to kiss her on the cheek. They were the perfect picture of domestic bliss. Harrow froze. For a brief moment, she wondered if her parents had ever looked like that. 

“Ninth?” Magnus said, brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”

Harrow cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m fine. I was wondering if you and Lady Pent would enjoy eating breakfast with me.”

Abigail smiled at her. “We’d love that. Do you want to grab food from the dining room and eat in the south garden? There’s a picnic table under the most beautiful willow tree.”

Harrow nodded. “Yes, that sounds fine.”

“Great!” Magnus grinned. “Meet you under the tree in, say, twenty minutes? Abigail and I are old, we take a while to get dressed.”

“Yes, that’s fine.” Harrow nodded her head again. “See you there.” And with that, she turned and walked away. 

Harrow wasn’t entirely sure how to read Abigail and Magnus. They spent a large amount of time with the Fourth teenagers, but Harrow still wasn’t entirely sure what they were hoping to get out of it. They—particularly Magnus—were kind and cheerful and polite to everybody in the house. They were seemingly endless fonts of kindness and care, and Harrow was having trouble wrapping her head around it. What were they hoping to gain?

Twenty minutes later, all three of them were sitting at the table. “So!” Magnus said with a kind, jovial smile. It’s Harrowhark, isn’t it?” Harrow nodded. “That’s a lovely name.” 

“Thank you.”

Abigail smiled. “It’s nice. Is the  _ -hark _ to honor your father?”

Harrow inhaled sharply at the mention of her father. She took a moment to steady her breathing. “Yes.” A short beat, then: “Did you… ever meet him?”

Abigail laughed a little. “Oh, no. But my mother’s sent me letters since becoming a Lyctor, and she’s mentioned him a few times.”

“I see.” Another pause as Harrow considered what to say next. “What kinds of things did she say?”

“Nothing that substantial, I’m afraid. They’re not allowed to say much, as I’m sure you know.”

“I didn’t, actually,” Harrowhark said, rather stiffly. “My father never sent me any letters. I assumed he wasn’t allowed to write at all.”

“ _ Oh. _ ” Abigail took a very long sip of tea. 

Magnus smiled. “Well, maybe he just wasn’t a letter writer. I’m sure he thought about you all the time, Harrowhark. He must have loved you a lot.”

Harrow stared at the table and bit down the urge to ask Magnus why he assumed that. Was that what fathers were supposed to feel about their children? Did other fathers think of their children fondly? After a moment of indecisiveness, she borrowed a page from Camilla Hect’s book and responded with a noncommittal noise.

“So, Harrowhark,” said Abigail. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss?” Harrow, once again, froze. She wasn’t good at this part—at casually socializing and building up a good rapport until the other person liked you and wanted to help you. Apparently seeing her freeze, Abigail helpfully supplied, “Or did you just want to get to know us a bit better?”

Harrow nodded. “Yes, that. I hadn’t met any of the necromantic heirs of any of the other houses prior to coming here, and I’m trying to get myself acquainted with them.”

“Wonderful!” Magnus grinned. “Abigail and I always enjoy making new friends.”

_ Friends.  _ Harrow turned that word over in her head a few times.  _ Friends.  _ That was a very, very foreign concept to her. As she was struggling to find the next thing to say, Abigail spoke again. “Harrow—do you mind being called ‘Harrow’?” Harrow shook her head. “Oh, good! That’s what Gideon was calling you when she was speaking to us about you, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

Harrow looked over at Abigail, trying very, very hard to keep her face and voice neutral. “Gideon was talking about me?”

Magnus laughed. “She’s hardly stopped talking about you the entire time we’ve been here.” As Harrow’s mind immediately began to fill in all of the horrible things Gideon surely must be thinking of her, Magnus continued. “She’s been telling Abby and I all about how much she likes you.”

Harrow froze. “... Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Abigail said with a fond smile. “Not to gossip or spill Gideon’s secrets, but she likes you quite a lot, Harrow.”

Harrow stared at the ground, unsure how to respond. She didn’t know how to ask  _ but has she stopped saying that since the other night?  _ without sounding like she was prying. 

“Can I tell you a story?” Magnus asked, voice casual. “Completely unrelated.”

Harrow looked up, frowning, brow furrowed. “What?”

“When Abby and I first met, we had a bit of a rocky start. We were young. How young, darling?”

Abigail smiled fondly, reaching over to take his hand. “Teenagers. I can’t remember exactly how old.”

“Right. And we got on like a house on fire at first, but… well, houses on fire always burn out eventually. We were young. We had never been in a real relationship before. Neither of us knew how to act. So we lashed out, said stupid things, hurt each other. But it all worked out in the end.”

Harrow feigned disinterest. “Oh?”

“Yup. Because, beneath it all, we loved each other. We did from the moment we met.” Magnus leaned forward, his dark eyes twinkling in the dappled sunlight. “Though that—loving each other from the first moment—wasn’t what kept us together. It was the choices we made. When we hurt each other or messed up or just did something plain annoying, we had the choice to throw our hands up in the air and decide it wasn’t worth it anymore… or to keep trying. Staying and trying is so much harder than running, but God, it’s worth it.”

Harrow didn’t respond, turning her gaze back to her plate of mostly-uneaten food and staring at it. “Well!” Abigail said brightly. “Let’s not keep bothering the girl with our old stories. Harrow, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to hear about Ninth traditions...”

Harrow needed to talk to Gideon. She knew this. This was the right thing to do. She just needed to talk to her.

But damn, it was hard.

When dinnertime came that night, there was a knock on Harrow’s door. When she opened it, Palamedes and Camilla were standing there. She blinked, staring at them. “What is it?”

“You didn’t come to dinner last night,” Palamedes said. 

Harrow shifted awkwardly. “I ate in my room.”

Palamedes and Camilla looked at each other. “Come eat dinner with us,” Palamedes said. 

Harrow stared at them for a moment. Camilla sighed and said, “Please.” And this shocked Harrow so thoroughly that she allowed them to lead her out of her room and down to the dining hall. 

When they arrived to the dining hall and the Sixth started leading her towards a table currently occupied by the Fifth, Dulcie, and  _ Gideon _ , Harrow tried to turn around and walk out. Palamedes’ hand on her arm stopped her. She turned and looked at him, glaring half-heartedly. He smiled and guided her over to the table. “Traitors,” she muttered.

“We’re doing this for your own good,” he muttered back.

When they arrived, Gideon looked over at them. She smiled at Palamedes and Camilla, then froze when she saw Harrow. She recovered a moment later, giving Harrow an awkward smile. “Hey, you three.”

“Hey, Gideon.” Palamedes sat down. Camilla sat at his right then, then Harrow (very awkwardly) sat next to Camilla. Palamedes turned to the left, smiling at Dulcie. “Hello.”

“Pal, Cam!” Dulcie grinned. She hugged Palamedes, then leaned past him to grab Camilla’s hands for a moment. Harrow looked at the Sixth to find them both smiling, just a little. “Palamedes, I was just telling everybody about the research you’ve been doing for me. Would you like to take over?”

“Oh, sure.” Palamedes launched into an explanation on the research he had been doing to help with Dulcinea’s illness. When the word “cancer” came up, Harrow blinked and suppressed a frown. She had known Dulcinea was sick, but she hadn’t known she was  _ that  _ sick. Harrow felt something in her chest that, after a moment, she placed as sympathy and sadness. They were strange feelings—not because she had never had cause to feel them, but because she had very firmly been refusing to allow herself to feel any emotions for… well, about as long as she could remember. 

Harrow looked up at Gideon, wondering if the sudden emergence of emotions she had been feeling over the past month could be blamed on her. When Gideon looked up at her and winced, Harrow realized that she had probably been glaring at her. Unsure what else to do, she tried to put on a friendly expression. Judging by the look on Gideon’s face, it wasn’t entirely successful.

When dinner drew to a close, Gideon smiled at the table. “There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. Does anyone want to go watch it with me? There’s a great spot a little ways out from the house.”

Abigail smiled. “Oh, that sounds lovely! I’d love to.”

Dulcinea yawned. “I’m a bit worn down, so I think I’ll have to skip. Try not to have too much fun without me.”

When everybody else besides Harrow had agreed, Palamedes turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “What about you, Nonagesimus?”

Harrow looked over at Gideon. She expected Gideon’s face to be full of dread, to say very clearly that she had no interest in Harrow attending. But instead, her face looked… hopeful? Harrow took in a deep breath. “Alright. I’ll go.” And at that, Gideon actually  _ smiled _ .

“Alright!” Gideon stood up. “Come on, let’s grab some blankets and lanterns and go.”

As Harrow walked out to the field, her chest began to feel the tiniest bit lighter. Gideon had smiled when Harrow said she was coming with everybody. So maybe—just maybe—Harrow hadn’t completely ruined everything. With that thought, Harrow’s chest began to feel lighter.

They all gathered on blankets under the stars with the lanterns they had used to light their way spread around them. Palamedes and Camilla had sat between Harrow and Gideon, then volunteered to stand up and blow all of the lanterns out so they could see the sky better. When they finished, they elected to sit on their own blanket, so that Harrow and Gideon ended up alone on a blanket, sitting next to each other. Harrow tried to make herself be annoyed at the Sixth, but was too distracted by Gideon’s warm body next to her, the smell of her cologne, the way the moonlight reflected in her golden eyes. Gideon was entrancing. And, embarrassingly, Gideon caught her staring. But she only smiled at Harrow in response. Harrow looked around. They were alone on their blanket, Magnus and Abigail cuddling on a blanket a little ways to their left and Camilla and Palamedes curled up together a little ways to their right. Harrow took in a deep breath and leaned in closer to Gideon. 

“Gideon,” she said quietly.

Gideon looked down at her. “Yes?”

Harrow paused for a moment, realizing that she wasn’t sure what to say. She was very, very unused to apologizing. Gideon waited patiently as Harrow thought. “I’ve been thinking about… our conversation the other night.”

“You mean our fight.” The words weren’t accusing, just a plain statement of fact. Still, Harrow winced.

“Yes, I suppose so.” She took in a deep breath. “Gideon, I’m—”

“Hello?” Palamedes called out. All heads turned to follow his gaze. A figure clad in a shining, iridescent robe was coming up over the hill, approaching them. In the moonlight, it was hard to see anything of their face. Camilla pulled a pocket flashlight out from her robes and clicked it on, pointing it at the figure.

The woman was almost stereotypically Third—tall, golden, and beautiful. She was dressed in white pants that flared at the end and a white blouse, with an ornate golden rapier at her hip. Harrow noticed immediately that she bore a striking resemblance to Corona.

Gideon stood, brow furrowing. “Dinabeth? What the hell are you doing here? You know you’re not supposed to be on this planet.”

Dinabeth the First shot Gideon an award-winning smile. “Oh, but Giddy, you know that I just  _ love  _ breaking the rules.” She extended her arms towards Gideon as if asking for a hug. As she did, blood shot out from her arms like four hardened spikes, shooting towards Gideon—

One of them hit her in the arm. She cried out and stumbled backwards. The other three clattered to the ground, knocked out of the air by Camilla’s sword. As Palamedes sprinted over to Gideon, Harrow moved into rapid action, grabbing a handful of bone chips from her pocket and throwing them onto the ground. An array of skeletons grew up, surrounding the Lyctor. Around the circle of skeletons, the rest of the group stood: Camilla, Gideon, and Magnus with swords drawn; Palamedes and Harrow with their hands extended; Abigail with blue fire glowing in hands. Palamedes’ shirt was torn at the bottom, a strip of it now wrapped around Gideon’s arm where Dinabeth’s blood had pierced it.

Dinabeth looked around the circle and let out a delighted, condescending little laugh, as if a toddler had just run up and tried to hit her with a rubber sword. “Oh, you’re all so endearing! Perhaps this will be entertaining after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am VERY EXCITED for the next chapter y'all. Let me know what you thought of this one!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at cyberian-demons.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus, Abigail, Camilla, Palamedes, Gideon, and Harrow fight for their lives against Dinabeth the First.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you again to everyone who left comments! <3

Gideon glared at Dinabeth. “What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing?”

Dinabeth smiled the gentle smile of a mother watching their children do something adorable. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to kill you.”

Gideon let out a startled, affronted noise. “What?! Why the hell do you want to do that?!”

Dinabeth gave a delighted, tinkling little laugh. “Oh, Giddy, darling, it’s nothing  _ personal.  _ I just want your dear old dad to suffer a bit. That’s all.”

“But  _ why _ ?”

Now Dinabeth looked at Gideon with something approaching pity. “If you knew the kinds of thing your father has done—the things he’s made us do—you would understand why he needs to suffer.”

“Then kill  _ him _ !” Palamedes yelled. “Don’t kill an innocent girl who hasn’t done anything wrong!” 

Dinabeth actually rolled her eyes. Harrow had initially thought she bore the most resemblance to Corona, but this action brought out a striking resemblance to Ianthe. “I  _ can’t _ , nor do I want to. That ended very poorly for the last people who tried, bless Mercymorn and Augustine. And besides, I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want him  _ dead _ , I just want him to suffer a little. Really, Giddy, you don’t need to take it so personally.”

“ _ You’re literally trying to kill me _ !”

As Harrow stood, staring at Dinabeth, memories of her father began to assault her mind, her sight, her hearing. She took in a sharp breath, trying to push them away. “What did the Emperor do?” she called out after a few moments, internally begging Dinabeth to say something to make her father’s words eight years ago make sense.

Dinabeth looked at her with pity. It made Harrow’s blood boil. Harrow sent a skeleton towards Dinabeth; she deflected it like it was made of paper. “Giddy, have you told them how a Lyctor is made?”

Gideon scoffed. “Of course I haven’t.” All eyes turned towards Gideon. Gideon began to shift uncomfortably under the weight of their stares.

“Then let me be the first to tell them.”

Gideon’s eyes widened. “Dinabeth,  _ don’t. _ ”

“You shush.” She waved a hand at Gideon. Gideon immediately started making wordless, panicked moans, grabbing at her mouth that wouldn’t open. Harrow cursed under her breath. She recognized a fused jaw when she saw one. She rushed over to Gideon and put her hands on either side of her mouth, trying to undo Dinabeth’s work. “Have you ever wondered why you didn’t hear anything about the cavaliers from the Lyctor trials?” Silence. “I’m sure you have. To become a Lyctor, a necromancer must consume a human soul. A powerful one.” There were several stifled gasps around the circle as every set of eyes widened with dawning horror. Dinabeth’s mouth widened in a ferocious grin. “Yes, that’s right. To become a Lyctor, you have to consume your cavalier’s soul. We all did it.” At the shocked stares, she gave a little laugh. “Come on, now. Kill one person to achieve nearly infinite power. As if any of you  _ wouldn’t  _ do it.”

“I would never,” Palamedes said, voice shaking. Harrow looked over to see him staring at Camilla, who was standing very still and staring at Dinabeth with wide, frightened eyes. “I would  _ never  _ do that, not in a million years.”

Dinabeth gave him a condescending smile. “Well, isn’t that sweet?”

“That’s impossible,” Abigail said, and Harrow realized with a start that her voice was trembling. “My mother would  _ never  _ do that. She’d never kill her cavalier.”

Gideon opened her mouth with a gasp. “Thanks, Harrow,” she muttered. Then, louder: “She didn’t. Dinabeth did.”

If the circle of people had been still before, it was frozen now. “What did you say?” Abigail said. Her voice wasn’t trembling now—it was horribly, terrifyingly calm.

Dinabeth sighed. “Oh, I can’t believe you’re getting me  _ monologuing _ .”

“I can,” Gideon muttered, “She never shuts up.”

“During the Lyctor trials, we were all racing to figure out the secret to become a Lyctor. John didn’t just tell us how to do it, because he’s a  _ dick _ ; we had to figure it out. Andy—”

“Androthine,” Gideon corrected. “You know she hates being called Andy.”

“ _ Andy _ ,” Dinabeth continued as if Gideon hadn’t spoken, “The then-Master Warden of the Sixth, managed to figure it out first. She became a Lyctor, then I did, then Priam, then Heleus. Damalia was insisting that she couldn’t do it. And then we realized that one of the two surviving original Lyctors, Cytherea, was at our little party. She had murdered the Seventh heir and came in her place. By the time we figured out who she was, she had already killed the heirs and cavaliers of the Fourth and Eighth. A fight broke out, and we were losing. Cytherea was going to kill us all. We needed an extra edge, so I gave us one. I killed Damalia’s cavalier and told her that if she didn’t use his soul to become a Lyctor, his death would be for nothing. When she stopped screaming and crying, she did it.” Dinabeth turned to Abigail. “And now your mother is still alive. You’re welcome.” A beat. “I mean, you’ll never be able to see her again, but it’s the thought that—”

Abigail let out an agonized, mournful scream as she shot blue fire out of her hands, directly at Dinabeth. Dinabeth tried to get out of the way, but she didn’t move quickly enough. She screamed as the fire hit her. As it faded, her body stood there, charred and horrible and falling apart. Harrow found herself trying not to gag.

And then Dinabeth began to laugh. She continued to laugh as her skin healed over, rapidly regrowing until her body was whole again. Her dress was in burned tatters around her. She looked over at Abigail and made a  _ tut, tut  _ noise. “I loved that dress, you bitch. I’m going to make your death slow.”

Magnus moved in front of Abigail, sword raised. “Like  _ hell  _ you are.”

“How do you think you’re going to get away with this?” Gideon called out. “Dad will know it was you.”

“No, he won’t.” She cleared her throat, then put on an unfortunately convincing air of sorrow. “I got word of the assassination plan too late to stop it—when I got there, they had already killed Gideon. John, I’m so sorry.” The sorrow left her face, replaced with the same hungry expression that her daughters had worn watching Naberius and Gideon fight. “A few extra witnesses doesn’t change anything. I’ll just kill you all and tell John that you were the murderers and I killed you all in revenge. He’ll understand.”

“But—” Gideon started.

Dinabeth cut her off with a loud sigh. “No. We’re done talking. It’s time to die.”

And with that, a great rumbling sounded from the ground beneath them. Harrow nearly fell over, stopped only by Gideon’s firm hands steadying her. They looked at each other, faces inches apart, and Harrow wondered if she looked as terrified as Gideon did. “Harrow,” Gideon said quickly, “If we die—”

“We won’t die.” Harrow took in a deep breath. “Tell me after we live.” After a brief pause, Gideon nodded.

They turned back to Dinabeth to see the ground cracking beneath her. An assortment of bones flew up—femurs, pelvises, jawbones, tibias. As they did, blood began to pour out of Dinabeth’s arms, connecting the bones. The bones grew and shifted and changed form, coming together into a hulking beast of bone held together with thick tubes of blood. 

Camilla was the first to move. She ran towards it, targeting the blood, trying to get it to fall apart. Gideon and Magnus ran in after her, trying to do the same thing. Harrow raised her hands, focusing on the bones before her and trying to rip them apart. She could feel blood begin to run from her ears and her nose as she focused all of her magic, trying to manipulate the thanergy in the bones and send them flying. 

Dinabeth, looking at best mildly frustrated, began trying to hack through the skeletons surrounding her to move past them. As she carved a hole through them, a shimmering field went up around her. She tried to step through it, then let out an alarmed cry as her skin immediately began to wither and rot away. Harrow glanced over to see Palamedes staring at her, hands raised, brow furrowed in concentration and blood on his face. 

Dinabeth grimaced and charged through the field. As she did, her body withered away to a nearly mummified corpse and collapsed on the ground. Blue fire immediately erupted in a ring around the corpse, standing six feet tall. The necromancers watched as Dinabeth’s body slowly regrew until she was standing tall and whole. Palamedes hastily put a new field around her. As he did, he coughed a few times, spilling a few drops of blood on the ground. 

The bored expression was gone from Dinabeth’s face. She looked  _ pissed. _

“This isn’t fun anymore,” she said sourly. “I’m going to kill you all now.”

The bone construct stopped trying to fight Magnus, Gideon, and Camilla all at once. Instead, it just turned to Camilla, pouncing on her. As Camilla disappeared under a pile of bones, she let out a terrified, pained, high-pitched scream.

“ _ Camilla _ !” Palamedes screamed. He ran towards the bone construct. Harrow ran over and grabbed his arm, holding him back.

“ _ Wait _ ,” she gritted out. “Guard me.”

Palamedes looked down at her. Harrow hadn’t known Palamedes and Camilla for very long, but she knew them well enough to know that Palamedes loved few people as strongly as he loved Camilla. So she was genuinely surprised when he nodded and assumed a defensive position next to her. He waved his hands and blood began to leak from his nose as a field went up around them.

Harrow took in a deep breath and raised her hands. She gathered up as much thanergy as she could inside of her and around her—the thanergy of the planet, of the bones on her body, of the 200 screaming souls inside of her—and she ripped the bone construct to pieces. 

Bones and blood went flying, scattering all over the field. Camilla was lying on the ground, bleeding from at least a dozen wounds, completely still. As Palamedes ran towards her, Harrow tried to follow him, to guard him as he had guarded her. But her legs gave out from under her, and she saw the ground rushing towards her before her vision went black. Distantly, as if underwater, she heard a voice—Palamedes?—yell her name, then another voice—Gideon?—say “Go to Camilla, I’ve…”

And then everything went dark and cold.

When Harrow opened her eyes, she saw Dinabeth standing above her, rapier in her hands. There was a net of sharpened blood around them, suspended mid-air. Dinabeth looked down at Harrow almost curiously. Harrow grunted and tried to sit up, but Dinabeth put a boot on her chest and pushed her back to the ground. Harrow coughed and collapsed back down. “You’re Priam’s daughter, aren’t you?” she asked, voice full of wonder. “His little abomination.” Harrow took in a sharp breath. Dinabeth smiled, mouth cruel and eyes hungry. “Yes, he told us what he did. Poor little Harrowhark. I thought you and your mother were supposed to off yourselves years ago.”

Harrow’s head was still spinning. “She did,” she said after a moment. “I didn't.”

“Hm.” Dinabeth’s smile grew. “Well. We can fix that. Time to send 201 souls to the River.”

Dinabeth raised her rapier above her chest. Harrow began to bring up her arms to defend herself. As she did, she began to hear her father’s voice in her head yet again. Not full sentences this time, just one word:  _ Abomination. Abomination. Abomination.  _

Harrow let her arms fall, closed her eyes, and waited for death. 

“Get the  _ fuck  _ away from her!” Dinabeth disappeared above her, tackled to the ground by a flash of dark skin and red hair. Harrow gasped and shot to her feet. Gideon, holding a struggling Dinabeth to the ground, gasped out “Harrow, a little help!”

Harrow gathered up all of the thanergy she could from the earth beneath her and sent several of the bones laying on the ground around them towards Dinabeth. They grabbed onto her wrists, arms, legs, ankles, neck, and torso before embedding themselves very firmly into the ground beneath her. Gideon jumped up to her feet and stumbled over towards Harrow. Harrow looked her over as she reached her. She was beaten, bloody, and bruised, and she looked like she was having trouble even walking. There were dozens and dozens of fresh cuts on her from where the blood net must have sliced her up. If Harrow looked as bad as she felt, she probably didn’t look much better. The two girls leaned on each other, trying to hold each other up. Harrow took a few seconds to look around the field, to see what state her friends were in. She grimaced at what she saw. 

Camilla was awake, sitting up and leaning against a large rock, but she had the dazed expression of somebody who had lost a lot of blood. Palamedes was next to her, his shirt and cloak tattered as he tried desperately to put bandages on all of her wounds. Magnus and Abigail were crouched on the other side of the field across from them. Abigail’s face was covered in blood, and Magnus looked to be in only a slightly better state than Gideon. 

Harrow looked up at Gideon. “That’s not going to hold for long.”

Gideon took in a deep breath and looked at Dinabeth. “We’re fighting a losing battle, aren’t we?”

Harrow let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”

A moment passed. Harrow felt Gideon’s fingers on her chin, tilting her face up. When Harrow looked up at Gideon, she was grinning. “Well, at least we’ll go out fighting.”

Harrow let out a breathless, hysterical laugh as she grinned back at Gideon. “Let’s give her as much hell as we can.”

“Damn right.”

Palamedes walked over to them, stumbling slightly as he came. When he reached them, Gideon pulled him over to them, allowing him to lean against her to steady himself. She looked at him. “Cam?”

“Alive,” he said, voice ragged. “But she can’t stand. She can’t fight anymore. We’re down to five.” Their gazes turned to Dinabeth. Several of the bones holding her down had been shattered, and the others looked close to breaking. Palamedes, face grim, brought his hands up. They were shaking. Harrow’s were shaking, too. As Palamedes twisted his fingers, a glowing field sprung up around Dinabeth. After a moment, glowing fire sprung up around that. Harrow raised her hands, sending twenty or so skeletons around the perimeter of the circle.

With a great crunch of bones, Dinabeth stood up. If she had looked pissed before, she was furious now. Her eyes were wide, her mouth curled in a snarl as she panted and looked around at the people surrounding her. As she did, the glowing field began to falter. Harrow’s gaze snapped over to Palamedes. His entire body was shaking. With a bright burst of light, the field dissipated entirely. Palamedes collapsed to his hands and knees on the ground, coughing up blood. Gideon and Harrow immediately dropped to the ground next to him, clutching onto him. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. He coughed and more blood splattered onto the grass beneath him. He continued, voice quiet and rough, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“You’re all  _ pathetic _ ,” Dinabeth snarled. “I’m a  _ Lyctor _ , bitches! You think you can beat me? I’ve killed billions! Hundreds of billions!” Harrow looked past her, to Abigail and Magnus. Abigail’s eyes were wide as she met Harrow’s. She winked at Harrow, then collapsed to the ground, seemingly unconscious. The blue flames disappeared. Dinabeth glanced back, laughing again as she saw Abigail on the ground. “ _ Pathetic. _ You’re not half the woman Damalia is, and she’s not that impressive to begin with.”

When Dinabeth turned away from Abigail, Abigail sat back up, eyes alert. She mouthed “Distract her!” to Harrow and ripped her cardigan off. Harrow was briefly distracted by staring at her. Her dress was sleeveless, held up by thick straps, and it gave an unimpeded view of the scarred sigils and symbols covering almost every inch of her arms. Magnus, without flinching, cut his arm open and started bleeding on them.

Harrow looked back to Gideon and Palamedes. “We have to distract her,” she muttered as quietly as she could.

Gideon looked up at Dinabeth. She began to slowly stand, but stumbled on the way up. Harrow stood, helping Gideon to her feet. They stood in front of Palamedes, shielding him from Dinabeth, leaning on each other to stand. “You’re wrong, you know,” Gideon called out. 

Dinabeth raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“That dad won’t know it’s you.”

Dinabeth laughed. “And how do you figure that, Giddy?”

“Because he already doesn’t trust you.”

That made Dinabeth freeze. A smile came on her face that exactly echoed the smile Ianthe had worn when Gideon had insulted her mother. “You’re lying.”

Gideon laughed at that, but the wheezing sound that accompanied it somewhat lessened the effect. “I’m really not, though. Honestly. You’re ruthless—more than any of the other Lyctors. He’s always told me to keep an eye out for you, to be careful around you.”

“You’re  _ lying _ !” she snarled. “John loves me. He loves me more than he loves  _ you.  _ He didn’t even want you!” Gideon froze. Seeing her posture, Dinabeth’s mouth curled up into a smug smile that made Harrow want to punch her face. “Oh, Giddy, honey, didn’t you know?”

“Know what?” Gideon asked. “That you’re a liar? Already knew that!” Her tone was purposefully nonchalant, but her voice was shaking. 

“How were you born, Gideon? Who’s your mother? Where is she?”

Gideon took in a deep breath, then continued as if reciting a story that she had heard a thousand times. “My mother was a necromancer from the Second House. When I was a baby, she was killed by the Blood of Eden.”

Behind Dinabeth, Harrow could just make out the sound of Abigail frantically muttering as the scars on her arm began to glow. Dinabeth didn’t notice at all, looking absolutely  _ delighted  _ as she spoke. “No. Your mother  _ was  _ the Blood of Eden.”

Gideon was completely still now. “What?”

“Mercymorn and Augustine pulled some kind of—disgusting threesome jizz heist on your father,” (“ _ Ew _ ,” said Gideon), “And impregnated the leader of the Blood of Eden. She took you to the Ninth House to try to use your blood to open the Locked Tomb. Gideon—the first one—found her just before she could. He killed her and took you home. That’s why John named you after him. He raised you with  _ great  _ reluctance, Gideon. He never wanted you. Every time he looks at your face, he sees the woman who hated him more than anyone else in the universe.”

Now it was Gideon’s turn to very quietly say, “You’re lying.”

Dinabeth smiled. “I’m really not, though.” And with that, she sent a long, thick, wickedly pointed spear of blood sailing outwards. 

But she didn’t send it towards Gideon.

Harrow’s skeletons were blocking Dinabeth from Gideon, but in Harrow’s dazed state, she had left an opening between Dinabeth and herself. She saw what happened next in slow motion:

Palamedes screamed for her to duck—

Harrow tried, but she couldn’t move quickly enough—

But Gideon could.

Gideon—that horrible, wonderful, stupid, good-hearted girl—lept between Harrow and the spear. She let out a long cry as the spear impaled her stomach. Harrow let out a strangled gasp. Gideon ripped the spear out of her (“No, leave it—oh, fuck,” Palamedes said as she did), then turned and gaze Harrow a dazed smile. “It’s gonna be okay, Harrow. It’s—” She cut herself off with a choke cough, falling to the ground. Harrow dropped to her knees next to her.

Harrow was a necromancer, but she wasn’t a medic. Give her a dead body, she could do a thousand and one things with it. Give her a dying body, she didn’t know how to do anything but make it die faster. “Palamedes,” she choked out, “What do I do?”

Palamedes crawled over to them. “Take your cloak off. Press it against the wound, try to stop the bleeding.” Harrow did as he said, hands shaking as she did.

Harrow looked down at Gideon. She felt something hot and wet dripping down her face that, at first, she thought was blood. As something clear began to drip onto Gideon’s chest from Harrow’s face, Harrow was shocked in a numb sort of realize that they were tears. “Why the  _ fuck  _ would you do that?” she whispered.

“Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Gideon managed to get out. “Harrow—listen, Harrow, I’ve gotta tell you something—”

There was a great crash behind them. They all looked over to see every single one of Harrow’s skeleton constructs clattering to the ground. Now entirely unimpeded, Dinabeth stalked to them with a manic sort of glee in her face. Palamedes raised his shaking hands. A field sprung up around them for just a moment before sizzling out of existence. Palamedes cough more blood onto the grass. 

Dinabeth walked forwards until she was standing directly above them. Distantly, Camilla’s voice came from behind them, sounding strained. “ _ Palamedes _ !” Behind them, Harrow heard the sounds of her standing up, running a few steps, and immediately collapsing to the ground. 

“Camilla—” he called back, not taking his eyes off of Dinabeth. Dinabeth paused, gesturing for him to continue. After a moment, he just said, “I’m sorry.”

“How touching,” Dinabeth said. She reared back on one leg. Before Harrow had time to realize what she was doing and try to stop her, she kicked Palamedes in the face, directly over his glasses. Harrow felt her stomach churn as she heard glass shattering, followed immediately by Palamedes letting out a pained scream and clutching at his left eye.

Dinabeth looked down at the rest of them, a bored expression on her face that couldn’t hide the hunger in her eyes. “Any last words, children?” They were all silent. Harrow could hear Camilla struggling behind them, trying to make her way over, but there was no way she’d be able to make it fast enough. Palamedes, Gideon, and Harrow looked at each other, knowing with certainty what was about to happen. They clutched at each other as tightly as they could and waited to die.

And then Abigail’s voice rose from behind them, chanting words that Harrow didn’t understand. There was a bright flash of blue light. Dinabeth froze. Everybody turned to look at Abigail.

The candles from the previously-abandoned lanterns had been gathered and set in the ground, forming a circle around Abigail. The flames were now glowing bright blue and shooting several feet upwards. Abigail’s eyes and scars were emitting a bright blue light that was spilling around her. Slowly, the words leaving Abigail’s mouth turned into a long, shrill scream that seemed to be made of thousands of voices.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dinabeth barked out. She groaned. “Fucking  _ spirit magicians. _ ” She ran towards Abigail. Halfway there, she let out a short scream as she she tripped and fell flat onto the ground. “What the hell?”

Harrow sat up to get a better look. A glowing, translucent hand had shot up from the ground and was grabbing onto Dinabeth’s ankle. She grunted, spun around until she was sitting upright, and tried to yank it off. It held tight. Two more hands shot up, then five, then ten, pulling Dinabeth down until she was held to the ground. Entire torsos were coming out of the ground, now—horrible, gaunt, haunted faces twisted in expressions of agony, some showing horrible, life-ending wounds. The scream of thousands of voices had turned into a cacophony of words that Harrow couldn’t make out. After a moment, she realized every voice was saying the same thing, out of sync with the others:  _ Dinabeth, Dinabeth, Dinabeth… _

Hands began to pull and press at her, pushing her down into the ground. Dinabeth began screaming in what sounded like complete and utter agony. Abigail stood up, still glowing blue, and walked over to her. “Dinabeth the First,” she said in a voice that was not quite her own, “The souls you have sent to the River come here for you now. They call you to join them. You, who have ended so many lives; you, who have fed the River until it was full nearly to bursting. Your time has come. You will outrun death no longer.”

The voices changed.  _ Join us, join us, join us… _

Dinabeth’s scream somehow grew even more pained, even more feral and outraged. “You can’t do this!” she shrieked. “You cannot! You cannot kill me! I am a  _ Lyctor _ ! You cannot—” Her words were cut off by another agonized scream. And then, very suddenly, her scream ended. Her body went completely still as the ghosts sunk back into the ground. The clearing was still. Almost peaceful.

The blue glow subsided. Abigail, sounding very out of breath, said “The body is empty, but alive. Somebody needs to kill the body before a hostile spirit inhabits it.”

A shuffling sound came from somewhere behind them. Camilla Hect staggered up, her rapier clutched in her hand. She made her way to the empty body of Dinabeth the First, stared at it for a moment, and then sunk her blade into her heart. Leaving her blade there, she hobbled over to Palamedes and laid down on the ground next to him. They wrapped their arms around each other, gripping each other tight.

“Well, gosh!” said Abigail, still breathless. “That was just—” She collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Magnus ran up to her.

With the adrenaline of the situation fading, Harrow found the last of her energy leaving her. She collapsed to the ground, too, next to Gideon. As she closed her eyes, she felt a strong arm around her, pulling her over. Curled up against the side of Gideon, Harrow slipped into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We're nearly at the end now.
> 
> A quick question: I'm considering writing a short fic about the new Lyctors in this universe. Would anyone be interested in reading that? :0
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at cyberian-demons and on Twitter at cyberian_demons.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrow and Gideon finally have a conversation.

When Harrow woke up, the first thing she heard was, “My god, when I said not to have fun without me I didn’t mean that you should nearly  _ die. _ ”

Harrow bolted up. “Gideon?” As she moved, pain shot through her entire body. She doubled over, trying to steady her breathing.

“I’m fine, Harrow,” came a familiar voice from next to her. Harrow began to relax.

“And, for the record, we’re fine, too.” This was Palamedes’ voice, sounding somewhat amused. 

Harrow sat back up, looking around the room. They were all in a warmly-lit room that Harrow didn’t recognize besides knowing that it was in Gideon’s house. She had been changed out of her robes and into one of her nightgowns, which was both embarrassing and a bit of a relief. She, Gideon, the Sixth, and the Fifth were laid out on cots pushed up against one of the walls. Dulcie was in her wheelchair between Palamedes and Camilla, who had stretched their arms out between their cots to grip onto each other’s hands. There were thick bandages wrapped around the left side of Palamedes’ face, covering his eye. 

The people on the cots were being attended to by people dressed in the colors of the Third—not the Tridentarius twins or their cavalier, thankfully. Harrow, quite frankly, had no idea how she was going to face them after this. 

A middle-aged man walked over to Harrow. “You should lay back down, Reverend Daughter.” 

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

“Harrow,” Gideon said, “Please?”

Harrow huffed and laid down. The man began looking her over, having her do a few tests that were presumably to make sure that she wasn’t concussed to hell. After several minutes, he pulled back, apparently satisfied. “Get plenty of rest and you should be fine.”

Harrow let out a short breath, trying to hide her relief. “Thank you.” She turned and looked at the others. All of the wounds that she could see had been healed over to scar tissue. Thank God for flesh magic. “Are you all…?”

“We’re alright,” Abigail said brightly. “Nothing some magic, medicine, and a few good nights of sleep won’t fix. How are you feeling, Harrow?”

Harrow hesitated. That wasn’t a question she was used to being asked. “Fine,” she said after a moment. “Is Dinabeth…?”

“Dead,” Magnus said, voice grim. “Very, very dead.”

Gideon sighed. “I’m going to have a hell of a lot of things to explain to my dad the next time I see him.”

Abigail let out a tired chuckle. “I’m sure he’ll understand.” She sat up a little more, groaning as she did. “I don’t know about you kids, but I think I need to sleep.” There were a few murmurs of agreement from around the room. Abigail looked at the medic nearest to her. “Are we cleared to go back to our rooms?”

The medic glanced at the person next to him, who nodded. He turned back to Abigail and smiled. “You’re all clear, Lady Pent.”

Everybody slowly shuffled out of the room. Gideon and Harrow looked at each other for several long moments before turning and walking away. 

Harrow couldn’t sleep. Of course she couldn’t sleep. Her father’s voice had never been louder in her head. And now, every time she closed her eyes, she had a new host of images to see: Dinabeth approaching them, murderous glee in her face. Camilla, bleeding from a dozen wounds, half-dead on the ground. Palamedes and Gideon, terror in their faces as they waited to die. 

After maybe twenty minutes of trying to sleep, she gave up. Without even bothering to slip into shoes or grab a cardigan, she opened her door and slipped into the hallway. Once there, she paused. She knew exactly who she wanted to talk to, but she realized that she had no idea where Gideon’s room was. And even if she found Gideon, what then? What would she say to her?

Right as she decided to turn back around and go try to sleep again, she heard footsteps approaching down the hallway. When she turned and saw Gideon, relief flooded her chest. Gideon smiled, walking up to her. “Hey,” Gideon said quietly. 

“Hey.” Harrow looked up at Gideon, at this horrible, wonderful girl who had done so much for her, and tried not to cry again. 

“Come with me to the garden?”

Harrow nodded. Gideon came around to her, holding an arm out. “I can walk on my own,” Harrow said, but she took the arm anyway.

Harrow had held some childish hope that seeing Gideon would immediately alleviate the terrible feelings in her chest, but instead—horribly—they almost seemed to get  _ worse.  _ Frustration and fear and anxiety and worry and everything awful Harrow had ever felt grew and grew in her chest as they walked. 

When they were outside, the grass tickling Harrow’s bare feet and the summer air warm on her bare face, Harrow turned to Gideon and was surprised to realize that, once again, there were tears in her eyes. “Why did you do that?” she asked, voice coming out stupidly choked and emotional.

Gideon’s brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“When Dinabeth had me on the ground, you ran through wires of blood to get her off of me. And then when she threw that spear at me, you jumped in front of it. You were hurt—you could have  _ died _ —to protect me. I don’t  _ understand  _ it, Gideon!”

“Harrow, I was just trying to protect you—”

“But  _ why! _ ”

Gideon was beginning to look frustrated. “Because I  _ like you,  _ Harrow.”

Harrow let out a frustrated, nearly shrieking sound. “Gideon, you don’t understand!”

“Then help me understand, Harrow!”

“You can’t like me and you can’t get hurt protecting me!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not  _ worth it!  _ Because I’m an abomination!”

They stood in silence for a few moments. “Harrow,” Gideon said, sounding heartbroken. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Harrow turned her face to the ground, letting her shoulders slump as she tried to collect herself. It was only partially successful, and it was with tears in her eyes that she looked back up at Gideon and said, “Follow me.”

“Harrow—”

“Please.”

“... Okay.” Gideon looked at her as if she was a particularly stubborn puzzle that she couldn’t quite solve. Harrow looked away from her and led her through the garden.

When they reached the beach, Gideon spoke again. “Harrow?”

“In the water with me. Please.”

Gideon looked like some of the pieces of the puzzle had just gotten up, danced a jig, and leapt off the table. Still, all that she said was “Okay.”

They waded out until they were waist-deep in the water. “My family has a secret,” Harrow said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the gentle waves. “It was my mother’s rule that we could only discuss it when immersed in salt water. I’m going to tell you this, Gideon, but you have to swear to me that you won’t tell a single soul. Not the Lyctors, not your father, not Abigail and Magnus or Palamedes and Camilla—absolutely nobody. Can you swear that to me?”

Gideon stared at her for a moment before nodding. “I swear.”

Harrow breathed in very, very slowly and exhaled at the same speed. She repeated the action a few times before beginning to speak. “I am an abomination. Don’t try to tell me I’m not,” she said off of Gideon’s look. “At the very least, not until I tell you the full story. Before I was born, my parents had been trying very, very hard for a child. They needed a necromantic heir to guard the Locked Tomb. To ensure it would never be opened.” At this, Harrow watched Gideon’s face very carefully. The brief widening of Gideon’s eyes did not bode well for Harrow and for the question she was soon to ask. Still, she continued on. “But, despite their best efforts… nothing was working. My mother was getting older. They needed a child, and they needed that child to be a necromancer. So they…” She took in a deep breath, then continued with remarkably little emotion in her voice. “They decided that they needed to generate a great burst of thanergy. An incredible one.”

Some amount of understanding was beginning to come into Gideon’s face. Harrow turned her gaze to the water to escape it. “Harrow, what the hell did they do?”

“They killed every single child on the entire planet,” Harrow said, startled by how flat her voice sounded. “Every single one. I am the only living remnant of my entire generation. I am a revenant of two hundred children of my house.”

“Oh, god,” Gideon muttered, sounding quite a bit like she was going to be sick. 

Harrow couldn’t bring herself to look at Gideon, to see the hatred and disgust in her face. “My birth was a sin. I was born from death.” She took in another breath to steady herself. “And that’s not all.”

Gideon let out a startled, choked laugh. “What the hell else could there possibly be, Harrow?”

“My parents are dead.”

“Oh—oh, Harrow, I’m so sorry, I had no idea about your mother—I could have  _ sworn  _ that she was still alive—” 

“My parents are dead,” Harrow repeated, “Because of me.”

Gideon froze. “What?”

Harrow took in a deep breath and told the story that haunted her every waking moment.

Harrow had been in her room, sitting on her cot and studying some ancient necromantic tome. It was likely bound in human skin, which, upon a time, might have bothered Harrow. It didn’t now. She was ten years old, and she was very familiar with necromancy. 

Her door flew open. She made an indignant noise as she looked up to see her mother. Before she could ask her mother to please knock before entering her door, she caught sight of her mother’s wild, triumphant expression and froze. 

“Your father has returned to us.”

Harrow sat up straight. “What? But I thought he wasn’t allowed.”

“And yet he has.” Her mother’s mouth broke into the first smile that Harrow had ever seen on her face. “Come, quickly!”

They rushed to her mother’s room. And there, inside, stood a man. He wasn’t wearing any kind of face paint, which Harrow immediately deemed strange. His hair was strange, too. The devout of the Ninth kept their hair closely cropped—if not shaved entirely—but his hair was brushing his shoulders. The color and the texture of the hair was hers, though, as was his pointed nose and high cheekbones. When he turned and looked at Harrow’s mother, his eyes were black, just like Harrow’s. And that, too, seemed very strange, because she had asked her mother to describe her father dozens of times, and every time she had said that his eyes were light grey. 

The final thing that seemed strange to Harrow is that he absolutely refused to look at her. 

“Hello, father,” she said. Still, he kept his eyes trained firmly on his wife. 

“We’ve made a horrible mistake,” he said, not addressing Harrow at all. 

Harrow’s mother frowned. “What do you mean, Priam?”

“All of this—everything we’ve done, crafting that  _ abomination _ .” Harrow froze as he gestured very pointedly at her. “It was all pointless. Completely  _ fucking  _ pointless.”

“Priam, what in God’s name are you talking about?”

He laughed. “ _ God _ . What a useless, self-centered, egotistical title. John isn’t a true god, he’s just a man who got too much power—”

“ _ Priamhark! _ ” Harrow’s mother had pulled a bone rosary out of her pocket and was rapidly moving it between her fingers. “That’s blasphemy.”

“You can’t blaspheme against a false god. Pelleamena, we damned our entire planet’s future—murdered 200 children—all for the sake of creating that abomination in the corner. And why? Why did we do it?”

“You know why!” she said sharply. “To protect the Locked Tomb.”

Again, he laughed, this time even harsher and more manic than the last. “Damn the Locked Tomb! Damn the body that rests inside! It was all pointless. Nobody besides John can open it, Pelleamena. Our entire planet’s purpose is a lie. Opening it is impossible. We never needed to guard it at all.”

Harrow’s mother had frozen, now standing completely still. “That can’t be true—”

“John told me. The Necrolord Prime himself told me. But do you know what, Pelleamena? I wish that it could open. If I could, I would march down there right now and throw the damn thing open myself. Wake Alecto up.”

Harrow’s mother frowned. “Alecto?”

“The alleged evil we were supposed to guard. She rests in there. If ever she wakes, she’ll burn the entire galaxy, starting with John. I wish she would.”

“Priamhark, you’re not making any sense.”

“Our entire damn galaxy is rotten to the core. We all deserve to burn. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve done, Pelleamena. Mortus the Ninth is dead by my hand.” Her mother inhaled sharply, dark eyes widening. Harrow stood very, very still. “I have felled entire planets, ripped apart families, destroyed  _ billions  _ of lives, all under the order of the man who claims to be a god. And for what?” He slammed his hand onto the table next to him. “For  _ what, _ dammit!” he yelled. Harrow whimpered. He finally turned to her, and she stared into the black eyes that could not be his own. “You. Out. I need to talk to Pelleamena.”

Her mother’s voice came, ringing sharply through the room. “Priamhark, that is your  _ daughter _ —”

“That thing is an unholy abomination who never should have been born! The souls of 200 dead cling to her, and for what? So we could have a necromantic heir? Necromancy should never have existed in the first place. To guard the Locked Tomb? It never needed guarding. It was all pointless. All fucking pointless.” He glared at Harrow. “I said out. Wait in the hallway.”

Harrow finally found her voice. “But father—”

“ _ Out. _ ”

Harrow turned, looking at her mother. Her mother’s gaze was firmly trained on her father. “Harrowhark,” she said after a long moment. “Please wait in the hallway. I’ll fetch you soon.”

Harrow hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

And so Harrow left the room. She sat on the ground outside the door and pulled her prayer beads out. She wordlessly counted the beads.  _ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.  _ Without even thinking about it, the prayer began to leave her mouth in a quiet whisper. “I pray the tomb is shut forever. I pray the rock is never rolled away.” She paused, then, remembering what her father had said. He had spoken heresy, saying that the tomb was never meant to be guarded, saying that the tomb should be unlocked and the empire should fall. That God wasn’t God. That he should burn. Harrow closed her eyes and continued her prayer, trying to ignore her father’s words. “I pray that which was buried remains buried…” 

Several recitations later, the door swung open. Harrow jumped up to her feet, looking up at her father as he strode past her. “Father—”

He ignored her, walking past as if she hadn’t spoken. It took only a few seconds for Harrow to decide she had to follow him—to run after him, grab a fistful of his robe, and demand that he look her in the eyes and tell her what was going on. Before she could move, her mother stepped out from the room behind her. “Harrowhark,” she said, voice distant. 

Harrow turned, looking up at her. Her gaze was distant, too, eyes wide and unfocused. “Yes?”

“Come inside with me.” 

Harrow hesitated, looking back down to the hall at her father. He was nearly gone. But she could still catch him if she—

“ _ Harrowhark! _ ”

Harrow ducked and threw her hands up, shielding her head. She froze, eyes widening. Dammit, that was a mistake—that was just going to make her mother angrier. She closed her eyes and waited, trembling. A moment passed. Nothing happened. Harrow slowly stood up and opened her eyes. Her mother was still standing still, staring off with that distant look on her face. “... Yes, mother,” Harrow said quietly. Her mother turned, walking back into her room. Harrow followed after her. When they walked inside, Harrow saw two long lengths of rope sitting on her mother’s bed. “Mother? What’s going on?”

Her mother took in a deep breath before kneeling in front of Harrow. She put her hands on Harrow’s shoulders. Harrow winced instinctively before realizing that the touch was surprisingly gentle—one of the only gentle touches Harrow could remember her mother ever giving her. “Harrowhark… our lives have been lies. Everything we’ve ever done, all of the sins we’ve committed… they were all for nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Harrow desperately wanted to demand an explanation for every piece of this confusing mess, but the only words that came out of her mouth were: “Am I an abomination?”

“Yes.” Harrow took in a deep breath and tried not to cry. Mother hated crying. “We’re going to do the only thing we can do to repent, Harrow.” 

“What?”

A few minutes later, there were two chairs set under the rafter on the ceiling. Harrow and her mother each stood on a chair, a noose around each of their necks. Harrow wondered if now, finally, in their last moments, her mother would show some kind of affection for Harrow—a loving word, a gentle touch, something to prove that her harshness and lack of care the past ten years had been hiding a deep, profound love for her daughter. But her mother just looked at her with a distant and emotionless face, said “Goodbye, Harrowhark,” and kicked her own chair out from under her.

Harrow moved to do the same, but froze. She knew that she was supposed to follow her mother into the River, to repent for the crime that was her birth. But she froze. She couldn’t make herself do it. 

A knock sounded at the door. Harrow stood very still. A moment later, the door swung open. A choked gasp sounded from the entryway. 

Harrow looked over to see Aiglamene standing there, staring at her. A second later, she sprung into action, rushing over and taking the noose off of Harrow’s neck. Harrow turned, staring at her mother’s body. She couldn’t stop looking.

Aiglamene picked her up. Harrow thought distantly that it was probably the first time Aiglamene had touched her. She swiftly carried her out of the room, taking her out of sight of the body. “Mother is dead,” Harrow said quietly. It was a statement, not a question. Harrow, only ten years old, perfectly understood death.

“Yes,” said Aiglamene, voice gruff.

They walked in silence for a moment. “What now?” Harrow asked, voice small and timid and quiet in a way that her voice had never been before.

Aiglamene let out a long, shaky breath. “We’ll figure it out.

“Harrow…” Gideon said quietly. Harrow closed her eyes. She listened to the waves and treasured her last few seconds before Gideon screamed at her, called her a monstrosity, told her to get off of her planet and never return. She treasured the last few seconds where she could honestly say that she was friends with Gideon Prim. “Harrow, I’m so sorry.”

Harrow’s eyes flew open. “What?” She looked up to see Gideon staring at her, her expression not of anger or hatred or rage, but of  _ sympathy.  _ Of  _ compassion.  _ Harrow knew how to deal with hatred, but kindness was not something she had any idea what to do with. Rage, hot and irrational, began to bubble up in her chest. “How dare you!” she screamed. Gideon jerked back as if she had been slapped. And that made Harrow feel guilty, which for whatever horrible reason made her even angrier. “I am an abomination! I am the manifestation of the most horrible choice my parents have ever made! And if what my father said was true, then my birth was  _ pointless.  _ Tell me the truth, Gideon Prim: do we need to guard the Locked Tomb? Can it ever be opened?” Gideon stared at her, face conflicted. “Tell me the truth.”

“No,” she said after a moment. “Only dad and I can open it. Harrow—”

Harrow let out a great, heaving sob that made her entire body shudder. “I am a  _ monster!  _ And now I come here and you and the houses of the Sixth and Fifth and Seventh treat me as if I am a good person rather than the horrid monstrosity I am, and I—I don’t deserve it!”

Gideon walked over, stopping just in front of Harrow. “Harrow—”

Harrow grabbed fistfuls of Gideon’s shirt, beginning to shake her. “ _ Hate me! _ ” she screamed. “Despise me! Destroy me! Drown me in the sea and release the souls within me to the River! But whatever you do, for God’s sake, don’t treat me as if I’m not a monster!” 

Gideon stared down at Harrow. Harrow, unable to bear the piercing gaze of her golden eyes, turned her face towards the sea. They were silent, surrounded only by the sound of the waves and Harrow’s choked, gasping sobs. Strong, warm arms wrapped around Harrow, pulling her close. Harrow leaned into Gideon’s chest, pressing her ear to the other woman’s heart. She closed her eyes. 

As they crashed below the waves, Harrow went limp in Gideon’s arms. Gideon was going to drown her. It was only fitting. She was aware of Gideon’s arms around her torso, warm; the water surrounding her body, cold. Nothing else existed, had ever existed, or would ever exist again. There was nothing in the universe besides Gideon, Harrow, and the sea. And, for the third time that night, Harrow waited to die.

They broke the surface of the water, both gasping. Harrow opened her eyes and looked around. Gideon’s arms were still around her, but they were back above the water, the night sky above them and the beach next to them. Harrow found her footing in the sand again. She leaned forward, resting the top of her head against Gideon’s chest and staring at the water. “I don’t understand,” she gasped out when she could speak. “Gideon, explain it to me. I beg of you, make me understand this.”

“I don’t hate you, Harrow,” Gideon said, putting her hand on the side of Harrow’s face. Despite her knowledge that she in no world deserved this comfort, Harrow leaned into it. “You’re not a monster. You’re not responsible for the fucked up crimes of your parents.”

“I am the  _ physical manifestation  _ of those crimes.”

“But they’re not your fault. Harrow, did you somehow come to your parents prior to even being conceived and ask them to do that?”

Harrow furrowed her bro. “No?”

“Then how is it your fault?” Harrow was silent. “Harrow,” Gideon said softly, “Look at me.” Harrow slowly looked up. Gideon’s expression was pure sympathy and compassion and—and  _ affection.  _ That was it. That was the expression that Gideon had been giving Harrow this past month. An expression saying,  _ I care about you.  _ And it was this expression undid Harrow. She collapsed, sobbing incoherently against Gideon’s chest. The only thing keeping her upright was Gideon’s arms wrapped around her. 

Harrow wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Eventually, she began to feel capable of speaking again. But when she pulled back and saw Gideon’s face again, she was suddenly rendered speechless again. If Gideon said one more kind thing to her, she was certain she would just combust on the spot. Seeming to sense that Harrow was about at her limit for the night, Gideon just said, “How about we get back inside?” Harrow nodded silently. 

They silently walked back into the house. When they reached Harrow’s door, her hand darted out before she could stop it and clutched at Gideon’s shirt. And then, in a horribly vulnerable voice that she was certain to be embarrassed by in the morning, Harrow whispered “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay.” Gideon took Harrow’s hand, lifted it off her shirt and up to her mouth, and pressed a kiss to it. Harrow’s heart fluttered. “Let me change into some dry pajamas, then I’ll be back.” Harrow nodded, allowing Gideon to walk away as she walked into her own room. 

Harrow tossed the wet nightgown onto the tiled floor of the bathroom, slipped a dry nightgown on, and crawled into bed. She curled up into a tight ball under the blankets and laid there like that until a soft knock sounded at her door. She poked her head out of the blankets. “Gideon?” 

Gideon walked inside, now in dry shorts and a t-shirt with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She gave Harrow a very tired smile, walked over to the bed, then awkwardly hovered. “Do you want me to sit on the floor?”

Harrow shook her head. “No, go ahead and get in the bed. It’s gigantic.”

“Alright.” Gideon sat on the bed, then slowly slid down until she was horizontal and the blanket was on top of her. She turned to face Harrow. They stared at each other in the dim light of the room, and Harrow realized that Gideon looked very, very tired. 

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly. Gideon hesitated. Harrow thought back over the previous night. Her eyes widened. “Is it about what Dinabeth said? About your mother?” 

A moment passed in silence. “Yeah,” Gideon said, voice heavy with emotion. “But it’s—that can’t be true, right? That’s ridiculous. Dad would have told me.”

“Right.”

“And, I mean—” Gideon ran her hand through her hair, looking more agitated. “It’s Dinabeth. She lies all the time. She fucks with people just because she thinks it’s entertaining. One time, she went into your dad’s room while he was gone and moved all of his furniture two inches to the left just to see him freak out trying to figure out what changed. Another time, she had Heleus convinced that his daughter, Judith, was dead for  _ three months  _ before he found out that she was lying.”

“God,” Harrow muttered, “She sounds atrocious.”

“She was. So she had to have been lying, right?”

“It would make sense. I mean, who do you trust more: Dinabeth or your dad?”

“Dad,” Gideon said immediately. “No question.”

“So she must have been lying.”

“Right. You’re right.”

After a moment, Harrow quietly said, “But… when she said that you have to consume your cavalier to become a Lyctor… that was true, wasn’t it?”

Silence hung in the room, heavy and dark. “Yeah,” Gideon said finally. “Yeah. It is. Well—with one weird exception.”

Harrow raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Gideon sighed. “My namesake—the  _ first  _ Gideon the First—didn’t consume his cavalier, Pyrrha, completely. Totally on accident; he didn’t even know he did it. And then, shortly after I was born, Mercymorn and Augustine—two of the surviving original Lyctors—just kind of lost their shit out of nowhere and tried to kill my dad. Gideon was fighting to defend him, and his soul got pulled into the River. He died there. And then Pyrrha came out. She’s been in his body ever since. But,” she sighed again, “Aside from that weird fluke… yeah. All of the other Lyctors killed and completely consumed their cavaliers.”

“That sounds so awful,” Harrow said quietly. “I could never do that.”

“ _ Good _ . I’ve seen what it does to the Lyctors who do it. Don’t ever become a Lyctor, Harrow, even on the off chance that my dad offers.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” 

They laid there in silent for a minute or two, just staring at each other. Gideon slowly brought her hand up from under the blanket, moving it slowly towards Harrow’s hand on the mattress between them. She brushed her hand gently against Harrow’s. Harrow’s breath hitched. Gideon paused for a moment, looking at Harrow for some kind of reaction. Seeing none, Gideon began to pull her hand back. Harrow shot her hand out, grabbing onto Gideon’s. They rested their joined hands on the bed. Harrow’s eyes slowly drifted shut.

After a few minutes of silence, Harrow began to pick up a soft, nearly-inaudible sound. She snapped her eyes open to see Gideon crying, nearly silently. Harrow knew very little about what to do when somebody was crying. On the Ninth, crying was seen as a weakness. But she certainly didn’t think Gideon was weak, now did she? Gideon was one of the strongest people she had ever met.

At a loss for what to do, Harrow did the first thing that came to mind. The thing that she had always wanted her mother do when she cried as a child; the thing that her mother never did. Harrow moved forward and wrapped her arms around Gideon. As Harrow’s brain caught up to her arms and she worried that she had done something wrong, Gideon’s arms wrapped around her.

They laid there like that for a while, holding each other. At some point, Harrow began crying, too. Eventually, their tears began to subside as they drifted off to sleep. As Harrow fell asleep, it occurred to her that Gideon had never told her what it was that she wanted to tell Harrow in case they died. By the time that thought occurred to her, though, she was already mostly asleep. She could ask in the morning. And then, for the second time that night, Harrow slipped into unconsciousness while in the arms of Gideon Prim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at cyberian-demons and on Twitter at cyberian_demons.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

The next morning found Gideon, Harrow, Dulcie, the Sixth, and the Fifth sitting at a large round table together in the dining room. Minus Dulcie, who looked as lovely as ever, they were all at various points on a sliding scale between “looks pretty bad” and “looks like total shit”. Palamedes had moved his chair until it was pressing against Camilla’s and had pulled her over to lean on him. She looked about ready to fall back asleep right at the table. Palamedes, for his part, looked mostly alright—save for the exhaustion on his face and the bandages covering his left eye. He had at least thought to bring a spare pair of glasses to the planet, and those were on his face now, sitting somewhat crooked due to the bulk of the bandages.

Word of what had happened had apparently spread around all of the few dozen guests still on the planet. People kept staring and pointing and whispering. Harrow had been staunchly avoiding Aiglamene all day.

“Well,” said Abigail, “Last night was certainly… unexpected.”

“Is that what it was?”

Everybody at the table turned their heads to see Coronabeth and Ianthe Tridentarius approaching the table, flanked by Naberius a half-step behind them. Corona was silent, but there were tears in her eyes and her expression was furious. It was Ianthe who had spoken; Ianthe, who was looking at them completely emotionless—almost bored. 

Abigail stood, turning to face them. “Girls—”

Corona slapped her. Ianthe looked somewhat delighted. Magnus immediately stood up, coming to his wife’s side. Corona turned on her heel and began walking very quickly away. “ _ Hey _ —” Magnus began. 

“Leave it,” Abigail said quietly. She reached up and rubbed her face.

Ianthe stayed for a moment, scanning those pale eyes over the table, lingering for a moment on every face. When she reached Gideon, she stopped. “We’re going to be leaving today,” she said. 

“I think that’s for the best,” Gideon said, voice cold. 

Ianthe lingered a few moments longer, locked into some kind of staring contest with Gideon. It was only stopped when Naberius came up to her and quietly said, “Ianthe, the shuttle’s ready.”

With a final, hateful smirk, Ianthe turned and walked away. Abigail and Magnus sat back down. They all ate the rest of their breakfast in near silence. 

A few times during breakfast, Palamedes would look over at Camilla and start fiddling with her bandages or asking her questions about how she was feeling. Every time, she assured him that she was fine, face and voice somewhere between annoyed and affectionately amused. As Harrow watched them, something occurred to her. Palamedes had medical training. Maybe he would know something about the strange feeling that had been in Harrow’s chest all month.

When everybody had finished eating, Harrow turned to Palamedes. “Sextus, can I speak with you in private?”

“Sure.” He stood, then looked down at Camilla. “Come on, Cam.”

“In  _ private _ .”

“Oh.” Palamedes blinked and looked down at Camilla.

“I’ll be fine, Warden. You can leave me for a few minutes, I won’t die.”

“Alright.” Still looking somewhat reluctant, he turned to Harrow. “Where to, Nonagesimus?”

“Come on.” Harrow led him outside, finding a secluded spot in the garden. She turned to him and took in a deep breath. “I think there’s something wrong with me. Physically, I mean. I think I’m unwell.”

His neutral expression turned towards concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It started the first night I was here, while I was dancing with Gideon. I keep feeling this strange sensation in my chest—it’s tight and… almost fluttering? I’m sure that doesn’t make sense, but that’s the best way to describe it. Periodically, my heart starts beating faster and my face feels flushed. I’ve also been dealing with this sort of… tight, knotted feeling in my stomach. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

Understanding was beginning to fill his eyes. “Harrow,” he said slowly, “Has all of this been happening when you’re around Prim?”

Harrow thought for a moment. She nodded. “Yes, actually, it has been. What do you think that means?”

“Oh, god,” Palamedes muttered. He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Harrow frowned. “What is it? Am I dying?”

Palamedes let out a very,  _ very  _ long sigh, put his glasses back on, and looked up at Harrow. “Nonagesimus, you dolt, you’re in love with Prim.”

“What!” Harrow let out several shocked, offended gasps. “I—what—no! There’s no way!”

Palamedes’ eyes widened. “Oh, god, did you not know that you’re attracted to women?”

“What!”

“I mean, I thought it was obvious—not just the way you look at Prim, though those are the least subtle; I’ve seen you looking at Cam a few times, too—”

“I know that I like women!” Harrow said. Her face felt like it was on fire. “But I don’t like  _ Gideon _ .”

Palamedes raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think that?”

Harrow opened her mouth. Closed it. “I—well—we’re just friends. I’m sure she doesn’t like me that way.”

“You’re avoiding the question. Why do you think you don’t like her?”

Harrow floundered for another moment before just repeating, “I’m sure she doesn’t like  _ me. _ ”

Something approaching sympathy came to Palamades’ face. He walked over and put a hand on Harrow’s shoulder, somewhat awkwardly. “Nonagesimus, you are one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. In this regard, though, you’re also one of the slowest.”

“ _ Excuse me _ !”

The look on his face was not unkind when he said, “She likes you. Go talk to her.”

Harrow stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “Okay. Fine. I will. And then I’ll come back to you and tell you that you were wrong.”

“Sure.” He was outright smiling now. Harrow rolled her eyes and turned, walking away. A few steps away, Palamedes’ voice stopped her. “Harrow?”

Harrow turned, walking back to him. “Yes?” Palamedes paused for a moment before pulling her into a tight hug. Harrow went as stiff as a corpse for a few seconds before relaxing into his warm touch. She actually closed her eyes, leaning into his chest. Hugging. This was new. It was… nice. They both pulled back a few moments later. Harrow looked up at Palamedes. “What was that for?”

Palamades smiled. “I’m just really glad you’re not dead.”

“Oh.” Harrow took in a deep breath. And then, despite herself, she smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re not, too.”

“Thanks. Now go find Prim before the sheer agony of watching you dance around your feelings forces me to kill you myself.”

Harrow rolled her eyes again and walked away. Even after that talk, she still wasn’t certain that she wanted to talk to Gideon about her feelings. Even after last night, that somehow seemed like the most terrifying thing that Harrow could imagine.

Halfway back to the house, Harrow froze. Her mind, which was always so keen on dragging up memories for her, had just dragged up a memory markedly less horrible than the ones it usually made Harrow relive: the night of the ball. The night of the ball, when Gideon had asked Harrow if she was interested in marrying Her Divine Highness. When Gideon had asked that multiple times.

_ Oh. _

Harrow swore under her breath and ran off to find Gideon. She hated when Palamedes was right. 

Gideon was at the other end of the garden, sitting under the willow tree with Abigail and Magnus. Harrow paused when she saw them. Harrowhark Nonagesimus was not what most people would call  _ polite, _ but Gideon’s current conversation gave her a wonderful excuse to stall. 

Not for very long. When Gideon looked up and saw Harrow, her eyes lit up and she waved her over. “Hey, Harrow!” 

Harrow walked over, feeling somewhat awkward. “Hello.”

Abigail and Magnus shared a  _ look.  _ “We’ll leave you two kids to have your fun,” Abigail said, standing up. “Come on, Magnus, let’s go lay down for a while.”

“Alright, Abby.” They stood and limped off together, smiling at Harrow as they went. 

Harrow took in a deep breath, let it out, and took the seat next to Gideon. “Hello, Gideon. I want to ask you something.”

“Yeah, anything. What’s up?”

“Last night, when we almost died. You kept trying to tell me something. What was it?”

Gideon’s eyes widened. “Oh, uh. That. Well, ah—”

“You did say that you would tell me if we lived, Gideon.”

“Right.” Gideon took in a deep breath. “Harrow… Harrow, I like you. A lot. More than anybody else here. I mean—well, not necessarily  _ more  _ than—Palamedes and Cam and Dulcie are great, and obviously I love Magnus and Abigail—but, uh—differently. I like you the most in a, uh—in a…” Harrow waited as Gideon gathered her thoughts. She took a deep breath. “In a… romantic way. I like you more romantically than I like any of the other girls on this planet. In this solar system. Galaxy. Universe.”

“We’ve only known each other for a month,” Harrow found herself saying. She kicked herself as soon as the words left her mouth. 

“Then… can we get to know each other better? Will you stay longer? Or—or if you need to go back to the Ninth, I could go with you. I don’t have to! God, is that presumptuous? I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“I’ll stay,” Harrow said, surprising herself. “I can’t—I can’t stay forever. But maybe the Ninth House will remain standing if I linger for another week or two. Get to know you better.”

Gideon’s grin was as bright and blinding as Dominicus above them. “Thank you. Thank you, Harrow.”

“A week or two” turned to several weeks, and several weeks turned to several months. Most of the other guests left two weeks after the fight with Dinabeth, but the heirs and cavalier primaries of the Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh lingered a while longer. Even after they officially left, the Fifth and Sixth made frequent journeys back to First House, “just to check up on them”.

The first two nights after Gideon’s confession, Harrow had slept alone in her room. The third night, as she was trying and failing to fall asleep, there was a gentle knock on her door. She sat up, heart beginning to beat rapidly. Pushing Palamedes’ smug smile out of her mind, she called out, “Yes?”

The door cracked open. Gideon poked her head in, smiling. “Hey.”

Harrow’s mouth curled up into a slight smile. “Hey.”

“Can I come in?” Harrow nodded. Gideon walked in, shutting the door behind her. She hesitated for a moment before walking over and sitting on the edge of Harrow’s bed. “Harrow,” she said, somewhat awkward. “I’m…”

“Having trouble sleeping?” Now Gideon nodded. Harrow moved backwards—not that she needed to, the bed was gigantic—and gestured for Gideon to lay down. Gideon grinned as she did so.

Gideon and Harrow both laid on their sides, looking at each other in the darkness. “Have I ever told you,” Gideon said quietly, “That your bare face is beautiful? I mean, your face is beautiful all the time—the skull make-up is cool as hell. But I just—” She let out an awkward chuckle. “I’m just trying to say that you’re beautiful.”

Harrow was blushing furiously. “Thanks,” was all she managed at first; then, “You, too.”

They laid like that for a few minutes before Gideon moved closer and opened her arms. Harrow moved forward, pressing herself against Gideon’s chest. “It’s easier to sleep with you,” Gideon whispered. “I feel safer.”

Harrow’s heart was about ready to beat out of her chest. “I feel the same way.”

And so they began spending every night in bed together. For the first several weeks, they didn’t do more than hold each other, talk, and fall asleep. Even that was wonderful. More than Harrow had ever dreamed of getting, honestly.

The other houses left. Aiglamene returned to the Ninth House to keep it steady in Harrow’s absence. The Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh had left with promises to get back in contact with Harrow soon about sharing resources. Harrow had expected her chest to be heavy with the fear that help from outsiders would lead to the fall of Ninth culture, but… strangely enough, that fear was dull and distant. It was almost as if she trusted Abigail, Palamedes, and Dulcie to offer her genuine help without ruining her in return. Imagine that. Trust.

A week after everybody else left, Harrow realized that she hadn’t put her makeup on for several days. Strangely, this didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. She certainly wasn’t about to decide that Gideon’s father was an evil, false god as her own father had, but… the Locked Tomb had never needed to be guarded. The house that had taken so much from her, the house that demanded she contort herself into whatever impossible shape it wanted to keep it standing, was built on a misunderstanding. But here, billions of miles away from the Ninth House, she didn’t need to do that. She didn’t need to be Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus. She just needed to be Harrow. 

After all that had happened in the sea so far, perhaps it was only fitting that their next leap occurred there. Their nightly walk had led them to the beach, and after some playful discussion, they ended up wading into the water. Gideon had splashed her, and after Harrow was done making indignant noises, she began splashing her back. They laughed and chased each other through the waves. Harrow had never in her life felt more like a child—not even when she had actually been one. 

Harrow, running after Gideon, felt her foot catch on something under the water. She let out a cry and rushed forward, but Gideon caught her just in time. They stood, breathless and laughing, faces inches apart. “Harrow—” Gideon began, then cut herself off. 

“Yes?” Harrow replied, heart pounding. 

Gideon moved her face closer to Harrow, then paused. “Do you want me to…?” Harrow, unable to speak, just nodded. Gideon pressed her mouth to hers. Harrow melted into Gideon’s arms. 

It was definitely Harrow’s first kiss, and likely Gideon’s, too. It was messy and awkward and strange and  _ wonderful.  _ They pulled apart, giggling, resting their foreheads together. Harrow had never heard herself giggle before. 

They kissed several more times that night. When Harrow woke the next morning, she was struck with the horrible fear that last night had been some kind of fluke—that Gideon was going to wake up and say that they couldn’t do that again; or, maybe worse, that she’d wake up and just never kiss Harrow again without ever addressing the previous night at all—

“Hey.”

Harrow was startled out of her thoughts by Gideon waking up next to her. “Hey,” she said quietly. 

Gideon smiled, kissed Harrow, and then pulled her into her arms. “Good morning.”

Harrow smiled against Gideon’s chest. “Good morning.” And it was a very, very good morning, indeed. 

The other night that Harrow was sure would always stand out in her memory came a few weeks later. They had been laying in bed together, kissing, and then Gideon’s kisses trailed lower and lower on Harrow’s skin and Harrow’s hands traveled further and further up Gideon’s shirt. They fell asleep that night with their bare skin pressed together, clothes long abandoned on the floor. 

Now, after five months on the First House, Harrow’s shuttle was due to pick her up the next morning. She tried to push down the disappointment weighing heavily in her chest as she thought about leaving Gideon, leaving the life they had just  _ barely  _ started to build together. Leaving behind hot nights and warm mornings, arms wrapped around her every night, and somebody who saw her as  _ Harrow  _ to return to a cold, lonely, empty world where she could only ever be  _ Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus.  _

Harrow tried to push all of those thoughts aside and focus on her last night with Gideon Prim. As they laid together, warm in each other’s arms, Gideon quietly said, “Harrow?”

Harrow turned to look up at her. “Yes?”

“Are you going to come back?”

Harrow let out a long breath. “If I can.” A beat, then: “Yes. Yes, I’m going to.”

“Okay. Good.” Gideon kissed the top of her head. A few minutes passed in silence, then Gideon spoke again. “Maybe I could… come with you.”

Harrow pulled back and tilted her head up to look at Gideon. “To the Ninth House.”

“Yeah.” Gideon reached up and rubbed the back of her own head, face turning nervous. “I mean—I don’t have to, but—”

“No, yes, that—yes.” Harrow nodded. “Yes. If you’d like to do that, I would like that very much. Ah, it’s not as sunny as the First House. Or as warm. And the food isn’t like the food here at all. And—”

“You’ll be there,” Gideon said simply, “So I’ll love it.”

And, as Harrow pressed her flushed face back up to Gideon’s chest, that was the end of that.

As they were very nearly asleep, Harrow spoke. “Gideon?”

“Mm?”

“Are you still planning on marrying within the next seven months?”

Gideon pulled back and looked down at her. “Depends.”

“On?”

“On how fast you wanna take this.”

Harrow didn’t know how to say anything eloquent to that, so she just pressed her face back to Gideon’s chest. After a few moments, she said, “And if I don’t want to take it that fast? Will you find someone who will?”

“Nope.” Gideon pressed a kiss to the top her head. “I want you, Harrow. That’s all.”

Harrow fell asleep with a smile on her face. Maybe they would get married. Maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe this whole thing would collapse in a disastrous heap, and in 30 years they would look back from the beds with their new lovers with a mix of fondness and embarrassment on their first relationships all those years ago. But that didn’t matter now. Now, in this moment, Harrow had Gideon. That was all that she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the epilogue, coming in just a few minutes!


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A skip forward in time.

In the year 10,018 in the reign of the great King Undying, Gideon Prim—Daughter of the Emperor, Her Divine Highness—split her time between two homes. They were quite different, yet also quite alike. 

One was a small castle deep underground, lit only by candlelight and electric lamps. Everything down there seemed to be tinted a deep purple. It was a bit cramped, a bit damp, but it was home nonetheless. 

The other was a large house on a brilliantly green-and-blue planet. The halls and rooms were spacious and lit with brilliant sun during the day. It was light and airy, and it, too, was home.

There were commonalities between the homes. Both were filled with pictures showing a range of people in the colors of different houses. There was one day in particular that had been extensively photographed, and photographs from that day hung in both homes. In those photos, Gideon Prim was dressed in a crisp white suit and Reverend Mother Harrowhark Nonagesimus was in an elegant black dress. In many of the pictures, Magnus Quinn had clearly just been crying. There was one photo where Gideon swore that if you looked closely enough, you could see tears in Palamedes’ eyes. (He insisted that she was full of shit and that he hadn’t cried since he was five. Camilla agreed with Gideon).

There was another day that had been of nearly equal importance, though it was less heavily photographed: the day when a very relieved Ortus Nigenad had been permitted to step down from his post. After Harrow and Gideon had sworn their oaths together, after they had grasped each other’s hands and said  _ one flesh, one end _ , Gideon had stood up and faced the gathered crowd of their closest friends and grinned. “Well, I guess Magnus Quinn and I have something in common now. We’re both cavalier  _ pri-married!”  _

Magnus was the only one who laughed, and he did so with tears in his eyes.

Both homes were filled with love and laughter. Castle Drearburh, in Harrow’s childhood, had been a house of hushed whispers and harsh words—a home where you had to be as quiet as possible at all times or risk, at best, a severe verbal reprimand. A home of quiet, unspoken fear. No more. Never again.

The gates of Drearburh had been open again to outsiders, and outsiders came. Many of them made their homes and very quickly stopped being outsiders. The houses of Drearburh were now filled; the streets were busy and jovial. Castle Drearburh was a house of learning, where the most skilled adepts of the Ninth—sometimes even the Reverend herself—would teach bone magic to eager students. 

The Reverend seemed intimidating, to those who didn’t know her. She was short, but most people didn’t realize that until after spending a considerable amount of time with her—her personality was so forceful that it took a while to take in her actual stature. Her paint was crisp white-on-black, her black gaze firm and unyielding. But she was a kind, gentle teacher, in a way that was genuinely shocking to those who had known her in her youth. When she saw their shocked gazes, she thought to herself,  _ Well, just because I was raised in a home of cruelty doesn’t mean I have to be the same. _

The other home, on the First House, was always there to run to when the Ninth got too claustrophobic, too cramped; when the ruling ladies of the Ninth wanted to stop being Her Divine Highness Gideon Prim and Reverend Harrowhark Nonagesimus and just be Gideon and Harrow. They would call a shuttle and go to the home that Gideon had been raised in.

This, being much larger and airier (and, admittedly, cheerier) was also their preferred location for celebration. They would gather their friends here: Palamedes and Camilla; Abigail and Magnus; Isaac, his husband, Jeannemary, and her wife; and even Dulcinea, who was—through either help from Palamedes, luck, sheer stubbornness, or a combination of the above—still kicking.

Many nights on the First House, Harrow and Gideon would wade out into the water together. They would laugh and splash each other, chase each other, kiss each other under the moonlight. 

Today, they were waking up in their bed in Castle Drearburh. It was due to be an exciting day. Gideon and Harrow had no children—if you asked them if they were planning on having any, they would laugh for a good three minutes, then give you a deadpan “no”. Today, Harrow was announcing which of the adepts who had been training under her had been chosen as the next heir of the Ninth.

They woke up together in bed and pressed their bodies close to each other. Gideon kissed her wife, long and sweet and soft. “Good morning,” she whispered.

Harrow smiled and stroked her cheek. “Good morning, beloved.”

Gideon kissed her one more time before sitting up. “We’ve got a big day.”

“We do.” Harrow sat up, yawning and stretching her hands above her hand. She smiled up at Gideon. “Will you put paint on for it?”

“I will if you’ll put it on for me.”

“You know you’re more than capable of doing it yourself.” This was said with an affectionate smile, a gently teasing lilt to the voice.

“Correct! But I like when you do it for me.” 

Harrow smiled at her. “Alright.” She stood from the bed. Gideon did, too, stretching her arms above her head. Harrow took a moment to stop and stare at the strip of skin that emerged between Gideon’s pants and shirt as she did. 

A half hour or so later, they were dressed in their finest black clothing, facepaint on, ready to face the day. Gideon took her hand. “Ready, baby?”

Harrow took in a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Nervous?”

“Very.” Harrow reached her free hand into her pocket to play with her prayer beads. The prayer for the Locked Tomb hadn’t been spoken in years, but the familiar old prayer beads still brought Harrowhark comfort. “I’m going to be taking her under my proverbial wing. Guiding her, mentoring her, leading her. What if I...:”

“What if you fuck up?” Gideon filled in.

Harrow nodded. “Yes.”

“You won’t.” Gideon brought Harrow’s hand up to her mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her glove, light enough not to leave a stain. “You’re going to do amazing. I promise.”

“Thank you, beloved.” Harrow took in a deep breath and turned to face the door. 

Gideon gave her hand one last kiss. “Ready to do this?”

Harrow looked up at her and smiled. “With you? Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are DONE! A very fluffy ending because I have a sinking feeling that they won't get that in canon, and I figured they deserved one SOMEWHERE. 
> 
> Thank you so so so much to everybody who's read it and left such nice comments! I appreciate it so much. And BIG thank you to everybody in the People's Tomb server, who have been so nice and supportive! I love you guys!
> 
> There may be more in this universe in the future—I've started a fic about the new Lyctors in this AU, and I have some ideas for a fic picking up from the epilogue. We shall see what happens!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at cyberian-demons and on Twitter at cyberian_demons. If you want to read more about the Lyctors in this universe, you can read a post about them here: https://cyberian-demons.tumblr.com/post/634357406841929728/
> 
> Thank you! <3


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